Killing Floor
by BabysNotaProp
Summary: You take Dean Winchester back in time to a legendary Led Zeppelin concert. Two rules: no hunting, and it's NOT a date. Take a journey through trashing hotel rooms, avoiding monsters, and figuring out your feelings for each other. What people are saying: "You have officially written my favorite fic." "This is my dream fantasy." "I can't get this smile off my face. LOVE IT!"
1. Chapter 1

Killing Floor Chapter 1

It wasn't the first time you had accidentally fallen asleep on Dean's bed. The mattress was softer than yours, the bunker noises weren't as loud on his end of the hallway, and his pillow smelled nice. You blink awake as you notice Dean sleeping sitting down on the floor in the corner of the room with headphones on and his arms loosely crossed, his head leaning into the wall as he breathes deeply. That cannot be comfortable. He's going to be grumpy when he wakes up with a crick in his neck. Carefully, as not to make the bed creak, you sit up and shift through his dresser. There's no way you're doing the walk of shame into the kitchen when nothing even happened between you two. You find a red shirt you've never seen him wear and throw it on over your tank top. You're still wearing the same jeans from yesterday, but... they're jeans. The outfit is convincing enough, so you tiptoe to the door.

"Hey," a gravelly voice behind you stops you mid-stride. You turn towards the corner where the voice comes from and offer an embarrassed smile. "Nice shirt."

You smooth it down and notice it's a Led Zeppelin shirt with the burning Hindenburg as the artwork on the front. It's very soft, obviously quite old. Not one of those things you pick up in the band tee section of any department store - you're pretty sure this thing was vintage.

"Oh, uh," you stammer, "sorry, I was just… Where did you get this?"

Still too tired to form complete sentences, Dean closed his eyes and shrugged with a close-mouthed "I don't know" sound in this throat. He rubbed his neck and grumbled, his eyes wandering to the bed as he recollected being kind enough to not interrupt your much-needed sleep after yesterday's vamp hunt and impromptu vinyl collection concert.

"Coffee?" you offered. For all the things you didn't tell him, you did let it slip that you could fall asleep to anything Motorhead after a tiring day. Last night in the bunker hallway he told you he had a few of their albums, which you were so excited about you embarrassed yourself, so with a smirk he gathered his favorite three and put one on the player. You sat on the bed, feet dangling excitedly, as Ace of Spades blared in room 11. You laid your head on his pillow as your body began to relax, and the last thing you remember is Dean plopping down onto the floor with a portable cassette player and headphones.

Dean woke up enough to rub the sleep out of his eyes at the word coffee. "Please," he replied, still rubbing his neck absentmindedly.

Sam was already in the kitchen by the time you came in. He turned when he heard the soft "pat, pat, pat" of your feet across the hard bunker floor. He was doing something strange with his own cup of coffee in a blender with what appeared to be butter and cinnamon. "Good morning Y/N," he greeted with a smile.

"Hey Sam," you said as you inhaled the smell of coffee and… whatever the hell he had going on with the rest of the ingredients. You weren't ready for another health food explanation, so you decided to not even ask.

"Where'd you get that shirt?" Sam asked after you poured two cups from the pot.

Ah, if he hadn't seen it before, that means Dean really had no idea he had it. "You know what, I'm not even sure," you half laughed.

"It looks…"

"Vintage, I know," you finished. "Weird, huh? You'd think I'd remember getting something like that." Well, you'd think Dean would, but the walk of shame cover up had worked and you were fairly certain you could speak for him at this point. "I'm pretty sure this is one of their promo tees from 1969."

"Woah," he raised his eyebrows. "You know how much that's worth?"

Well-versed in the realm of Led Zeppelin and its enthusiastic fan base, you nodded your head. "Roughly, yes." Before you could exit the kitchen, Dean shuffled in tiredly and leaned against the door frame. You handed him his mug silently and he grunted, which you assumed was a thank you. He blinked the sleep from his eyes in between gulps, staring into his cup aimlessly. Noticing Sam's laptop on the kitchen counter, you lean in and read the news article he had left open covering a couple mysteriously slaughtered in their own bed. "Found a case?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, it's a couple days drive but it's just a salt and burn," Sam replied as he drank his creamy looking coffee.

"Dude," Dean finally spoke up after a few sips of his un-Sammed brew, "what _is_ that?" He stared at Sam's muddy looking cup.

Confidently he responded, "It's bulletproof coffee, and it's healthy."

"Of course it is." Dean rolled his eyes. "Just like your kale garnish and jogging obsession."

"Here we go," you sighed quietly, lifting your mug to your lips.

\- Four hours later -

You were going to change shirts, honestly, but Dean's vintage Led Zeppelin tee was just too comfy. He didn't seem to mind, anyway. Come to think of it, he hadn't minded much of anything since he woke up, and it was starting to worry you. At first you thought it was from his strange sleeping position, but come on, Dean's had it worse. It usually takes him a couple of hours max to snap out of the morning funk following a vamp nest clear-out, but today he just wasn't acting right. You've been around the boys long enough to know their daily flow: what time Sam comes in from his morning jog; how many chugs of coffee it takes for Dean to say more than two words at a time; the number of hours Sam waits between finishing a hunt and looking for another; which floor squeak is Sam's versus Dean's when they're right outside your room. Things you're almost certain they don't even know about themselves, but you wouldn't trade for the world.

Living with the Winchesters was an absolute delight. What began as a shared hunt here and there became a permanent living arrangement after your roommate/"not"-boyfriend died on a job gone wrong. Sam offered you a spare room and after the next hunt, you stayed. Then after the next one, you stayed. Working through your grief and distracting yourself with saving people and hunting things, you stayed. You walked into your room one day to see Dean laying a blue pillow with your first initial on the bed, and you took that as your invitation to unpack all the way.

As emotionally constipated as Dean appeared to the casual observer, you saw how much he cared in little things he did along the way. He didn't understand Sam's health kicks, but he always made sure his running shoes were clean and there were at least two salad toppings in the fridge at all times. He would push you to your limit on hunts, because he knew you could handle it, but damn it felt like a mean old drill sergeant screaming down your throat sometimes, but he also lets you pass out on his bed sometimes because he knows you like it. He doesn't how how he feels in the traditional, "Hallmark movie" sense, but you wouldn't want him to anyway. That just wouldn't be Dean. You'll take his gruff exterior and occasional leaks of under the table sappiness any day.

Except, well, when he's like this. Absolutely unreadable. You knocked on his door softly and waited for a reply. You heard the bed springs relax and reluctant footsteps. The door opened, barely. Great, he doesn't want to talk. Like, at all.

"Hey," you stretched your neck, trying to see his face.

He peeked out. "What?" he asked flatly.

"What's the deal with you?"

A quick shrug. "Nothing. You need something?" He was trying to get you out of his hair.

"Yeah, I need you to tell me why you're acting weird."

"I'm not acting weird," he said defensively, his voice raised slightly from his tone before.

You raised an eyebrow. "Did something happen on the hunt?"

"No, Y/N, I just don't feel good. I've got a damn crick in my neck," he offered.

You smiled and shook your head. "No, that's not why."

Dean huffed and started to close the door. Stopping it with your hand, you poked your head inside. "Is it ok if I come in?"

"No."

"Dean, come on," you sighed as you lowered your hand from the door. Right before you bail, the door opens slightly, giving you silent permission to enter. "Playing hard to get, are we?" The question was exasperated, not at all the context in which people usually use the term. When the answer didn't come, you walked in and sat beside him on his bed. "Nice sheets. Egyptian cotton?"

Dean cracked a slight smile. Good, progress already. He started wiping down his 1911's slide, a task he must've started before you knocked, judging by the field strip progress on his nightstand. "It's not that something happened on the hunt, it's that something didn't happen," he began.

"Oh man." Making him smile was addicting, and you wanted to see if you could do it again. "Bella not give you her number? Or was it Alice this time?"

"Man, I just," he continued, and you're not sure if the pop culture reference just flew over his head or if he's just really focused on what he's trying to say. "I was off my game last night. I don't even know why it's bothering me so much."

"Well, we didn't die, so you weren't _that_ far off your game."

He exhaled through his nose and nodded in agreement, gently setting down the shiny steel slide. "You remember the second room in the nest? It took me like four swings to take out one vamp. I mean seriously, what the hell? And that bitch who turned the vic right in front of me, she thought it was hilarious that you almost bit it - or, got bit - no pun intended," he finished quietly.

Poor fella. The dude was being hard on himself and there had to be something you could do to cheer him up. You put your hand on his shoulder and gave a short squeeze. "Yo, I'm still here. I appreciate the backup, seriously, but even if I had gotten bitten, there's a cure for vampires, so don't beat yourself up about it. Besides, everybody's got off days. Good times, bad times," you winked, alluding to the first song on Led Zeppelin's first album.

"Yeah well," Dean stood up and walked toward his vinyl collection, "if I could go back I'd do it differently. I went in underestimating them. Vamps are getting smart and we went in cocky. It's not gonna happen like that again."

You squinted as a wild idea popped into your head. Without a word you ran out of the room, not sure if Dean even noticed, since his back was turned to you.

"Cas!" you called into the hallway. Was he even in the bunker today? You hadn't noticed him after the latest hunt and although he didn't eat, he often accompanied the Winchesters in the kitchen, but he wasn't there this morning either. You can't called his name again but instead of an answer, you rounded the corner and almost barrelled into Sam. Jumping back, you exclaimed, "Sam! Hey! Have you seen Cas?"

"No, sorry, is there something I can do to help?"

"Can you send me back in time?"

"Uh, no. Wait. What?"

You sighed through your nose and tried to figure out the best way to explain your plan to Sam without sounding like a crazy person. "Dean is having a really bad day, and I was wanting to cheer him up. Like, something epically amazing. And it requires time travel."

"Y/N, you know how dangerous time travel can be."

"Yeah I know, but trust me, we're going to be wallflowers the whole time. I want to," you pause to take a breath, the idea sounding more and more insane by the second, "I want to take him to a Led Zeppelin concert."

Sam's eyes get big and he swallows, looking away for a moment. A smile slowly cracks and he nods. "That's… that's crazy."

"Yeah I kn-"

"He'll love it."

"Aha, I'm - what?"

"Yeah, I think you should do it. Have you tried praying to Cas? He's on his own thing today."

You couldn't keep up with what was happening around you. Since when did Sam become so supportive of time travel just for kicks and giggles? And there was no way Cas would hear your prayer; you tried before, and what started as a sincere prayer somehow became a longing for a hot fudge sundae, and you're pretty sure it got lost in the airwaves somewhere along the way.

"I'm not super good at praying," you explained awkwardly. "Would you mind trying?"

"Oh sure," Sam responded before clearing his throat and slightly bowing his head. "Cas, it's Sam. Y/N is trying to plan something special for Dean, so if you could-"

You feel a wave of air, like the draft after someone slams a door, and hear the slight rustle of wings behind you.

"Hello, Sam," Cas greeted, "hello, Y/N. What are you planning for Dean?"

"Thanks, Sam," you said before turning your attention to Cas. "I want you to send us to 1969." Sam continued his trip to his room, leaving you and Cas alone.

You could physically feel the tension in the air. "That's… inadvisable," Cas warned.

"I know, Cas." You sighed in defeat. It was going to be way harder convincing someone who had seen first-hand the effects that changing history can have on the flow of the universe. "But Dean is feeling majorly bummed, and I know something we can go to that would make him happy again."

"What exactly do you have in mind?" he asked with both skepticism and curiosity.

You couldn't believe he was actually willing to listen. "January 23rd, 1969. Boston, Massachusetts. We would be there until the 26th or 27th. We would be going to a concert and just watching. Nothing crazy, I promise." Cas peered down at you with narrowing eyes and you could see the wheels in his head turning, and it was vaguely terrifying. "We're not even going to bring hunting stuff. This is just going to be for fun. I just want to cheer him up. Please, Cas?"

Cas weighed the matter in his mind before answering. "Alright."

Your face lit up and you grabbed his waist and clung onto him. "Cas! Yes, yes, yes! Thank you!" His shoulders tensed when you hugged him and you felt a stiff hand on your back. He exhaled and his muscles relaxed slightly. You pulled away, still smiling. "We need a plan for you to know when exactly to pick us back up. And I don't feel comfortable relying on prayer. Sorry, but with me it's unreliable, especially when you add a fifty year time lapse." You thought for a moment, then started walking toward the kitchen with Cas following. Opening a new tab on the laptop, you searched Google for the Boston Globe until you found papers that had been digitally scanned into the archives from 1969. "I'll put a personal ad in this exact paper when we're ready to come back," you pointed to the January 27th issue, to which Cas nodded. You bookmarked the page and asked Cas if he had any questions.

"When do you want to leave?" he asked.

You looked at your watch; it was 2pm. "In an hour. Thanks again, Cas." You couldn't stop smiling as you made your way back to room 11.


	2. Chapter 2

Killing Floor Chapter 2

"Dammit, Y/N! Can you at least tell me what kind of clothes I need to bring?"

You were thoroughly entertained at the attempts Dean was making to guess what you had planned. So far the questions had been: _So you're sure this isn't a date? Is Sam coming? Is Cas coming? So it's not a date or a hunt? Are you sure I shouldn't bring a few weapons, just in case? What do you mean, I can't bring my Bob Seger shirt? Is this some sort of trap? Do Sam and Cas know what this is about? Wait, I need to pack for multiple days? How much money should I bring? Where the hell are you taking me, Y/N? How am I supposed to pack if you won't tell me anything?_ And he hadn't gotten a single inch with you. This is what he knew: Pack enough clothes for four or five days, dress warmly, bring some cash and a camera. No, Dean, a real camera, not just your phone.

"Bring layers. It'll be cold," you replied. "No need for anything dressy. Dress comfortably."

"Great, you're taking me to the freakin' artic to murder me," he ran his hands over his face stressfully. "Any other day I'd be thankful you can kick my ass."

You burst out laughing. You swore seeing him like this was better than waiting to see his reaction when you'd finally get there. "Just finish packing. I'll be back soon." Dean had spent the past forty minutes haphazardly tossing articles of clothing into his bag and trying to figure out the surprise, so you didn't have much time to prepare yourself.

"Is there going to be a shower? With tiny shampoo bottles?" he asked as you started leaving. You knew the question was two-fold. He genuinely wanted to know what the living conditions would be, but he was also trying to get more information out of you.

"I'll take care of the bathroom stuff." You smiled and tilted your head curtly.

"So I don't need to bring my loofah?"

"You use a loofah?"

"Shut up."

\- TWENTY MINUTES LATER -

You had changed into fleece leggings and a long sweater, plus a coat and boots. In your bag you packed four more outfits, extra shoes, toiletries, and cash. Cas said he could adjust the age of the money when he sends you back. Now if only there was something he could do about your out of place fashion. Oh well, if the 60s were as wild and free as the rumors say, maybe everyone would be too stoned to notice.

You passed Sam on your way to Dean's room and piped up, "Hey Sam, I feel bad that we aren't going to be there for the salt and burn."

"Oh, it's not even a three person job," he dismissed as he sent a text. "Cas and I have it covered. You guys have fun."

The way he said the last sentence sounded different than the rest. It was slightly unsettling. "Sam?" He looked up from his phone. "Why are you suddenly so supportive of spontaneous time travel?"

"I'm not, it's just," he struggled to argue, "this seems like something you and Dean will really enjoy. Together." He looked back down so he wouldn't have to look at your reaction to the last word.

"Dean doesn't think of me that way."

He huffed out of his nose and smiled. "Ok, but when are you going to tell him?" He ventured to look at you again. "This trip would be the perfect chance."

"That's never going to happen," you replied softly. For every time Dean internalized his feelings, you had two. For every step you took to be more open with your emotions, you took two steps back. You had gotten so good at it, you had shoved all tickly feelings for him into a dark corner and all but forgotten about them… at least, until Sam brought them up. You hadn't even entertained the thought of this being anything besides a trip between friends. "Believe it or not, I have zero ulterior motives here."

"I get that. I'm just saying, if it turns into something more, I'm ok with that too." Sam smiled and continued to his room, leaving you with your thoughts in the bunker hallway.

His kind words begged the question, why even do this anyway? This is a pretty big "just because" gift. But the more you thought about it, the more you knew it was a long time coming. Dean never got to enjoy nice things; he was always going on to the next thing. One minute he's carrying a nine year old out of a Djinn den, the next he's lighting a rugaru on fire. In between jobs he'll hit on some chicks at a bar until he gets a bite, he gets one night of something that resembles pleasure, and then it's back to ganking monsters. Dean doesn't get vacations, especially those so far away that he doesn't even have to worry about a salt circle. This: time away from duty that constantly calls, a break from things that want him dead, days to spend thinking about music and fun; this is something Dean doesn't get to have, but you're going to give it to him.

You tap on Dean's door and call out, "Hey! You ready?" You hear shuffling inside, then the floor creak as he makes his way to the door.

"I know what it is," he announces as he opens the door. "We're going skiing!"

You blink twice but don't budge. "Wow, not even close."

Dean's shoulders slump as the smug grin falls from his face. His disappointment is comical, but will soon be remedied. Both of you walk into the library where Cas is waiting patiently.

"Ok Cas, don't tell him," you remind him.

"Come on, buddy," Dean begged as he adjusted his duffle bag.

"I'm sorry Dean, I'm sworn to secrecy," Castiel apologized. "Are you ready?"

"Hells yeah, let's blow this popsicle stand!" you exclaim and hold onto Dean's forearm as Cas reaches for both of you. You can feel the angelic power radiating off of him right before the touch zaps you and Dean into the past.

* * *

The next moment hits you with a gust of freezing cold air and musty city smog. You let go of Dean and take in the world around you. There's a hotel directly behind you, gorgeous cars at a standstill on the busy downtown road, people bundled up and hurrying across the crosswalk even though traffic is too heavy to worry over. A young boy walks by hand in hand with his mother, and you wonder how old he is back in "real time" and if he's doing well. You turn to face Dean, who is observing the cars, taking a stab at the era you landed him in.

"Sixties?" he guesses with a hesitant smile.

"Wow, you are good!" you compliment.

Dean takes a couple of steps, taking in 360 degrees of his surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity; he notices a newspaper vending machine in front of a metaphysical store on the corner and buys today's issue. After briefly reading the important clues he concludes, "Boston, January 23, 1969. What the hell." He looks up at you, bewildered, but the look quickly turns to wonder as his eyes wander behind you. You turn your head to see a pale, skinny man with frizzy dark brown hair carrying a guitar case nonchalantly down the street as people rushed by him unphased. You turn back to Dean with a smirk. "Was that…" he trailed off, watching him walk off and then turning back to you in disbelief. "Was that Jimmy fucking Page?"

"Ding ding! Give the man a prize!" you laugh, tickled pink at how perfectly timed fate had it. "Surprise, Dean. You're going to a Led Zeppelin concert."

Dean's mouth was in a temporary state of stunned slack. The few words he tried to form never came, getting stuck somewhere between his throat and lips. Finally he closed his mouth to swallow, remembering to breathe, and snatched you up into a rough embrace. He was going to see this history-making concert in person, all four days of it. He was going to hear Robert Plant's voice and Jimmy Page's riffs with his own ears. He would see the band perform with his own eyes, not the eyes of a camera or hear Bonzo and Jonesie work their magic behind the impersonal veil of a speaker. Why you were doing this for him he had no idea, but he was floored that you had thought of something this out of the box.

A million things to say to you ran through his mind as he held onto you. _Thank you so much, Y/N. You're the best. This is going to be awesome. You know, for a "not-date" this is about nine kinds of hot. How the hell did you come up with this? There's no way Cas was 100% ok with this. I'm going to go chase down Page right now and get his autograph! No wait that's a bad idea; nobody here really knows who these guys are until after the concert. Oh my god oh my god oh my god it's Jimmy fucking Page, that means Plant can't be too far away, those guys stick together like glue. He can't be that hard to find; the hair, ya know. Shit, Y/N, I can't even -_

"Why'd you do this for me?" Of all the things he could've said while breaking away from the hug, this is what he went with.

Your brows scrunched up as you pondered the strange question. "Cuz you're awesome," you replied shortly. No time for chick flick moments. You guys had a concert to get ready for. Besides, you couldn't look into those gorgeous green eyes for more than two seconds without starting to feel things, and you weren't letting that happen. This weekend was going to be whatever Dean wanted it to be, so if that involved him disappearing with groupies after the 2nd set every night, that was fine by you.

An hour later you were settled into the hotel room. You hadn't expected the hotel to have only one room left, but it was just your luck. At least it had two double beds. Too high strung on nervous energy to eat, you decide to hit the bar after tonight's set. The Boston Tea Party concert venue is across the street from your hotel, so it doesn't take long to get through the ticket line. The synagogue-turned concert hall was modest, able to hold about a thousand people. Walking in, you gawked at the mirror ball suspended from the tall ceiling, as well as the colored light projectors that would add a trippy ambiance to the wall next to the stage. The stage sat at the very back of the chairless room, except a few folding ones cast to the side. The balcony loomed directly above you, probably boasting bolted down seats but only necessary for those who couldn't fit on the ground floor.

The moments between stepping inside the modest venue and and the first strum of guitar is excruciating. The only thing that convinces you that time isn't at a complete standstill is the occasional brush of people pushing against you, inching you and Dean closer to the stage. He makes an occasional comment here and there about Bonham's drum set sitting on stage, the amps, and whether it would be safe to join along in Communication Breakdown, since it was already on the radio. You feel the eyes of some fellas gloss over you but quickly alleviate when they notice the man beside you. That's it, you think, you're losing Dean at the bar; your sexual frustration needs resolving. Amid the bustle of people his arm brushes yours and the tingle it sends into your stomach distracts you; yep, you definitely need a good lay. Your thoughts freeze as a man comes out and introduces the Raven as the opening act, after which everyone cheers contentedly, oblivious to the show they're about to get. You bite your lip nervously as the music manager announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Led Zeppelin" with each syllable of "Zeppelin" separated.

Instead of appearing from behind the stage, the band members walked through the crowd to get to the stage. Gradually the masses parted, everyone's attention drawn to the four young men quietly parading to the back of the concert hall. By the time they had stepped onto the stage, the crowd had quieted to mostly whispering between themselves, curious and enamored by the showy flare. Bonham thumped his drums a few times and tested the foot pedal. Page plucked around on his guitar while Plant and Jones fiddled with the amps. You darted a glance at Dean, who was a bundle of nervous energy, looking from the stage to you and back with a giddy grin. You offered a small, controlled smile, knowing you had to keep your game face on to keep Dean grounded in remaining inconspicuous.

The sound that erupts from the amps and house speakers is deafening. Taken aback by the vibrations that are heavier and louder than anything they had experienced, the shocked crowd goes from curiously optimistic to wordlessly spellbound. "Train Kept a' Rollin" is the first piece of the night and everyone in the room is instantly hooked on the new sound. After the first verse you snap out of it long enough to glance up at Dean again, whose shoulder is up against your back in the tight space. If he was on a seat, he'd be at the edge of it, drinking in every chord like it's his first drink in days, but it's like drinking from a fire hydrant. His mouth is slack, eyes sparkling with wonder, like a kid in the biggest candy store ever. He doesn't even notice you staring, and it's a good thing too, because you're grinning like an idiot. He's so happy, and it makes you happy.

The complexity of every song stuck with the concert goers, and with every new piece, they grew more and more in love. You Shook Me was the last song of the night, and as Page and Plant played riffs off of each other, Plant's acrobatic, elastic voice vibrated with the same electrical qualities indistinguishable from Page's guitar. Everyone in attendance left a different person, expectations exceeded and wanting more, and you could tell they knew that something very special was happening this weekend.

At the bar, you were about to order your next beer when you saw someone slip beside you out of the corner of your eye, but you couldn't be bothered by it. So many people were coming and going from the bar since you sat down, you had long since stopped paying attention. Besides, you had bar food of questionable quality and cheap beer to keep you occupied until you felt like going on the prowl. You took a sip and looked toward the back of the bar, where Dean had taken off to play pool. You hadn't seen anyone else over there a moment ago, but you almost spit all over the counter when you saw a familiar face making his way over to play against Dean: Led Zeppelin's very own John Paul Jones. You swallowed and slowly turned in your bar stool to meet the person seated next to you. He was a pale mess of frizzy dark brown hair and mysterious eyes, leaning against the bar counter on his elbows.

He smiled and quietly said in his charming English accent, "Hello there. Enjoy the concert?"

Your eyes widened when he spoke. Oh my god, he was gorgeous. And he had an accent. And he was the guitarist you had just watched the hell out of minutes before.

"Sorry," he interjected before you could answer, "it's just that I saw you there tonight near the front. Were you with someone, or…"

"Oh," you finally found words in your mouth. "Uh, no. He's not… we're not…" You cleared your throat. "The concert was amazing. You are very talented." Did Jimmy Page really just recognize you in a bar after their concert?

"Thanks, love. Can I buy you a drink?"

Play hard to get, play hard to get, stop fangirling, don't let him think you're easy. "As long as you let me return the favor," is what you decided with.

He chuckled and nodded. "Alright then. It's a deal," he replied and ordered two beers.

God, you never wanted him to stop talking. "So," you were careful not to say his name, "how are you enjoying Boston?" Your drinks came and you gave him your full attention.

"It's great," he answered after a long sip. "We were just in Cleveland, and next we're off to…" he squinted in deep thought, then turned to his other side and shouted above the bar noise, "Hey, what cities next?"

The man next to him turned in his seat and your eyes widened. He was tall, thin, and had bushy, curly blond hair bouncing around as he spun. "Springfield and Philadelphia, Jimmy. Hi!" he interjected as he glanced over at you. "Who's this?"

"Y/N," you replied, certain your voice had given away your excitement.

"I'm Robert, and this is Jimmy."

"It's nice to meet you. I really enjoyed the concert," you said loud enough for both of them to hear you.

"Ooo Jimmy, isn't she the one you were talking about?"

"Yeah, yeah, would you bugger off? Find yourself a girl," Jimmy shooed his friend away and turned back to you, shaking his head. You chuckled to yourself at the camaraderie between those two. "America is so different from England," he said to continue the conversation between the two of you.

"What's it like over there?"

He hummed mid-drink and set his glass down. "Well the girls are quite different than back home."

"Oh yeah?" You paused to finish your glass. "How so?"

His eyes met yours shyly. "In my opinion, they're prettier here."

Oh my god, what a cheeseball. But it made you blush and you tried to control the smile creeping across your face, but with no luck. A puff of air left your nose as you looked down, hoping to get the redness out of your face if you broke eye contact. It wasn't working. That's when you decided, fuck it. He likes you. You like him. And you were dying to know what else he could do with his fingers besides make a guitar do things that were humanly impossible.

A wave of boldness overtook you. "You wanna get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask," the handsome stranger replied.

You smiled as you both stood up to pay and leave. You shot a glance at Dean, who was laughing at something Jones said and waited for his turn. Feeling your gaze, he looked up from the pool table, catching you mouthing "don't wait up." He raised his eyebrows and gave you a knowing smirk before returning to his game; you rolled your eyes and took off.


	3. Chapter 3

Killing Floor Chapter 3

Sometime between last night and this morning you had completely lost your sweater, so you were rustling through the hotel nightstand looking for something of Jimmy's that might fit you. You tossed around a pair of jeans, a hairbrush, and a lighter, until you finally found a shirt. You put it on and stood in front of the dresser mirror to pull it over your hips, but stopped to look at it closely. It was a red tee with the Hindenburg in black ink, brand new.

You hear the shower water stop. You knock on the bathroom door and you hear "come in" from the other side.

"Hey, I'm gonna go," you said as you cracked the door slightly. "I uh, I can't find my top. Is it ok if I wear this?" You pulled at the shirt so he would see the design.

"Sure," he replied sweetly. "It suits you." He leaned in to kiss you goodbye.

You hummed your thanks in the middle of the kiss and said bye. On your way out of the hotel to grab some coffee you run into Dean, who had just come from a different hotel, judging by his bed head and walk of shame night-before outfit. You raise your eyebrows and he stops in his tracks, looking a bit nervous that you caught him. Stifling a laugh, you let him follow you to the cafe. "I figured out where you got your Zeppelin shirt," you explained, "you got it from me."

"Who got it from Pagey," Dean teased, noticing the red shirt sticking out from under your coat.

The cafe was warm inside, but that wasn't stopping you from getting coffee. Winter in the Northeast was brutal. You suggested to Dean after you sat down, "I was thinking we could visit around town, see the wonders of Boston."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Happy birthday by the way… ten years early."

He thought for a moment. "That's kinda weird."

"Yeah, it kinda is," you agreed. "I never got the chance to ask how you enjoyed last night."

Dean was in the middle of a sip, but had a mouthful to say once he set down his coffee. "Y/N, that was the coolest thing I've ever seen! It's like a dream come true. And we're here all weekend? Best concert ever." He contemplated for a moment while holding his cup to keep his hands warm.. "Was it good for you?"

Honestly, you couldn't tell who was having more fun, you or him. His reaction to this whole trip made it worth it, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying it, too. "Great!" you replied.

"And the concert, too?" he smirked as he raised his cup to his mouth.

"Oh get out!" you yelled as you threw a balled up napkin at him. He flinched as the napkin hit him in the face and he wiggled his eyebrows like he did right before you disappeared with Jimmy last night. "Let's get back to the hotel. I need a shower."

"Heh," he chuckled under his breath as you both stood up to leave. He braced himself to be pelted with another napkin.

It came. "Dean!"

"What, sweetheart?" he asked innocently, holding the door for you.

You kept quiet the rest of the walk to the hotel room. Before you could pick out clothes and lock him out of the bathroom, he had gathered his toothbrush and toothpaste and was taking his sweet time being in your way. You tried shoving him out but he was like solid steel. With a heavy sigh you stepped into the shower and mulled over the new nickname as you took your clothes off behind the shower curtain. You threw your clothes onto the bathroom floor and turned the water on after he finally left.

Oh, my god.

He was jealous.

* * *

After breakfast and the market, Dean mentions the metaphysical store close to where Cas zapped you. Stores like that were mostly crap; fake tumbled crystals, big name herbs that are actually just dyed sage, and books full of woo-woo kumbaya; but every once in a while you might find something valuable for a hunt. Ah, the forbidden "h" word. It was too deeply a part of either of you to fully escape your mind, even while thousands of miles away and fifty years back.

"Hey, check this out!" he called you away from an assortment of voodoo dolls. "Actual dragon's blood. Not the incense crap you buy at the bookstore." He held up a tiny vial, proud of himself for finding it.

"Get it, we can use that back home. It's damn near impossible to find," you encouraged.

"Also found some siren ashes," he continued.

"Dean, we are not buying siren ashes. What the hell are you planning on doing with that?"

He shrugged, but you knew he was just playing dumb.

"We are not getting Sam laid with a damn lust spell!"

His shoulders fell in defeat. So much for looking out for Sammy's love life. He put the small bag back on the shelf.

"Hey," you noticed something just below his eye level hanging from the wall. "Check out these silver knives!" You carefully thumbed the edge. "Sharp, too."

"We got silver back at home," he countered. "It's not as rare as some of this other stuff."

"True," you agreed. While Dean got his dragon's blood vial rung up you meandered through the rest of the shop. It was all kinds of weird, but strangely comforting. You got distracted by the goofer dust selection and were about to suggest that you guys stock up on that as well, but saw a woman come in and ask the lady behind the counter where something was. The woman looked Dean over, to which he awkwardly smiled back, and she brushed past him to find what she was looking for. Good, you thought. Maybe he'll get lucky on his birthday after all. After he received change back, Dean started leaning side to side looking for you from the counter, but you stayed hidden when you realized the googly eyed chick was coming back to make another pass at him. You couldn't be around him to mess this up, but you just couldn't look away.

"Hey handsome," the woman said as she put her hand on his arm. She had wavy blonde hair, red lips, and a killer smile. "You going somewhere?"

He smiled back, struggling for words for a moment, and replied in broken sentences, "Yeah, uh… you see uh, I'm… uh…" He coughed to the side. "I was just here with -"

Oh, shit. Shit. Shhhhhiiiiiit. He looked up and met your eyes. You shook your head violently, but he was already finishing his sentence.

"-someone," he concluded with a straight face.

"Oh," she looked down with low-key disappointment. Without another word, she left the shop as the wind chime rang on the door post.

You stomped over to him and threw your hands up. "What. The. Hell! She was cute!"

He sighed and turned to leave, holding the door open for you. "Let's go."

In the moments that followed you took inventory of what was going on around you. For the first time in your lives, you were both out of reach of monsters who knew your names, family who demanded your best whether they knew it or not, and a job that forbid you from having any permanent attachments; and on the first full day away from all of that, Dean Winchester is choosing you. And you can't understand why.

"Dean," you calmly mutter.

Although it was almost too soft to hear, he stops walking and turns to you. For the first time since you met him, you held his gaze for more than two seconds, and it was all you could do to keep from stepping forward, because looking into them forced you to face everything you had repressed for years.

"Do you…" you begin. Do you... what? _Do you like me… in that way? Do you feel guilty about asking another girl out? Because you shouldn't. Do you feel the same way I do? Do you want happiness like normal people get to have, but can't because that never ends well for people like us?_ You don't know what exactly your question was going to be, but you change it mid-sentence. "Do you want to eat something?"

His stare is only intense for a split second, but it feels like hours. "Uh, yeah," he replies much calmer than his tone in the crystal shop. You both continue walking to your favorite Boston diner, some dingy old place you're fairly confident doesn't exist anymore in your timeline. You seat yourselves at a sticky red booth and after putting in your order you feel his shoe accidentally push up against yours. At least, you're pretty sure it was an accident.

He doesn't move his foot back.

* * *

It was Friday night, it was 1969, and Led Zeppelin was in the house. There was a lot of booze, a lot of smoke, and a lot of dancing. You were pretty sure the venue directors didn't even care. Heck, you were pretty sure they brought the weed. Liquidy colors flooded the wall by the stage from the light projectors, intensified by the darkness everywhere but the brightly lit stage. You were pretty sure most of the attendees were new, although you thought you recognized a few faces when the colored lights hit the crowd in passing

Everyone around you was dancing right up against the stage. Mere inches were between you and the band as Plant's unmistakable voice rang out above the individual instruments that fed off each other contagiously. You and Dean were up front moving along with the crowd, but separately. It was the most surreal thing you'd ever experienced, or maybe that was the second hand smoke. During How Many More Times, Page had whipped out a freaking violin bow and was doing magic with it on his guitar. As you looked on in wonder, someone approached you and touched your shoulder. You turned into the touch and noticed a handsome man with messy hair and whiskey brown eyes.

"Would you like to dance?" he leaned in to ask you above the noise and held his hand out, his accent clearly Bostonian.

You lifted your eyes beyond him and spotted Dean. He was looking the other direction, purposefully avoiding eye contact so you could make your decision without pressuring you. "Actually, I'm with him," you replied, your index finger pointing from around your beer bottle.

"Oh gee I'm sorry," he withheld his hand apologetically. "I hadn't seen him dance with you yet."

You swallowed your response and just smiled back instead. When he walked away you saw Dean looking straight at you. He hadn't asked yet, you almost said. Up until this very moment, you weren't sure you wanted to dance with him. You were afraid of reading into all this. You had brought him out here, almost five decades into the past and thousands of miles away from home, to cheer him up, and that was it. And you were confident that you had done that. You just weren't expecting to also face your gigantic hunter crush on him. Every hunter in the western hemisphere had a thing for Dean Winchester; what made you so special so as to think you had any real chance with him?

So yes, you were uncertain about… well, everything. Until just now. You brushed past a few people to get to him, then held out both hands. "Dance with me," you said above the music.

That pair of beautiful green eyes and strong arms set both of your bottles on the stage and smiled at you. That's the moment he realized you chose him, too. There, two feet away from Led Zeppelin, in a pit of mostly stoned and drunk fans, in 1969, Dean Winchester took your hands and danced with you. You moved in time with the music, laughing when Jimmy Page did something spectacularly unexpected with his guitar or Bonzo took a twenty minute solo just for fun. The fans went wild as Communication Breakdown blared into the space, and Dean sang along enthusiastically with the radio hit. As Pat's Delight dragged on, the crowd thickened with fans begging for more, concentrating into a dense mass and clawing at the stage. As more and more people pressed and pulled against you, an arm draped around your waist to hold you close.

"This ok?" Dean asked when you looked down at his hand.

You cocked your head to the side. "I suppose I'll survive," you said smugly into his ear above the roaring crowd. He held you closer as Bonzo brought it home for the night. You wished he would keep playing just so you could have this moment just a little longer. Plant was thanking everyone for coming out, everyone around you was going wild, and the noise was probably damaging your eardrums, but it was the best sound ever. Dean had pulled you close enough to rest his chin on your head, swaying side to side, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of January 24, 1969 that would haunt him forever.

* * *

You two were a mess at the bar that night. You shared a high top table and went through shots like champs, already buzzed from the beer at the concert. Hearing Dean's awful jokes wasn't making your headache any better, and you palmed your hand as you leaned on the table and wondered if everyone smoking weed around you at the Boston Tea Party was why you were so goddamn tired.

"Hey Y/N," Dean slurred after setting another shot glass down, "what did the blanket say when it fell off the bed?" He paused long enough for a response, but you just stared him down. "Oh sheet!" You slowly shook your head, defeated. "Oh come on that's a good one. Oh hey, here's one I learned from ol' Jonesie last night. Why shouldn't you write with a broken pencil? Cuz it's pointless!"

"Heaven, save me," you whispered under your breath.

"Tell me a joke, Y/N," Dean pleaded. He was a cute drunk. "I know you've got some good ones."

"Ok fine," you agreed. "Why did the scarecrow get an award?"

"Because he was outstanding in his field!" Dean finished, pointing to you over another shot glass. "Ok ok, how 'bout this one." He looked up for a second and scratched his head. "What's green, fuzzy, and would hurt if it fell on you out of a tree?"

"Uhhhh, a sloth? No wait they're not green."

"Haha, no," he grinned, "a pool table."

You squinted and shook your head. "Wait. What?" You were too dazed and drunk for this nonsense. It was definitely time for bed.

"Come on Y/N that was a good one," he hiccuped. "I've got lots m - *hicc* - more."

"I'm actually going to turn in for the night." It was the first sensical thing you had said since you left the concert. "But speaking of pool table, you should go have some fun with whoever's back there tonight. You've got a key, right?"

Instead of answering, Dean gave a mighty thumbs up and slowly lowered himself out of the pub stool. Content that he could still navigate the bar, you slipped out of your own stool and walked yourself to the hotel room. After a shower and quick read over the daily paper to wind down, you turned the light out and thought about what had happened today and what it all meant. You and Dean still needed to have an actual adult conversation about being together and the ramifications thereof. Being Dean's live-in girlfriend had different nuances than simply being a Men of Letters bunker resident. You weren't even sure you had given yourself closure over your last roommate's death, simply because you pushed the pain deep inside of you so you wouldn't have to deal with it. Were you really ready to share space with someone else who could get hurt because of you? The last thing you thought of before you fell asleep was that if Dean wasn't in that other bed in the morning, it meant he wasn't ready either, that you were giving him a chance to back out.

* * *

Dean really was trying to be quiet, but the click of the hotel door woke you up. It was still dark and traffic noises were the quietest you've heard yet, so it had to be the middle of the night. You thought about letting him know you were awake, but decided against it. You'd be able to fall back asleep faster if you didn't stir.

You felt your mattress dip down towards the edge. He had sat down and made sure your comforter was covering your shoulders and toes. Your face was turned away from him, so you opened your eyes a little, even though it was pitch dark. He quietly said your name, but you stayed still and kept breathing deeply to match the rhythm of how you slept.

"Y/N," he whispered again, "you don't know this yet, but I'm stuck on you, sweetheart. I have been for a while, I just wasn't sure you felt the same way." He went quiet for a moment. "The way we live isn't good for relationships, which is why it seems so much safer to stick with unattached drifters. But if I could take a chance with anyone, it'd be you." You felt the bed squeak as the dip in the mattress lifted and a quick kiss on your head. Next thing you hear is him rustling around in his bed, trying to get comfy, before finally settling on his side and drifting off.

After you hear deep breathing and the occasional snore, you turn on your other side to look at him. Your eyes have adjusted to the lack of light, but it's still just a dark lump against an even darker background. You could speak softly into the void, knowing he wouldn't hear you, knowing your secret was safe, but you decided to wait and tell him in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I think it's time we talk about the story title. If you're familiar with Led Zeppelin history, you know that the band played a medley of Killing Floor and the Lemon Song during this very concert. While "Killing Floor" is the name of a Howlin Wolf piece, it's also a line in the Lemon Song referring to where the singer is spilling his seed. With lines such as "Squeeze my lemon til the juice runs down my leg" and "I'm gonna leave my children down on this killing floor", it's one of Zeppelin's most provocative songs and makes the perfect title for a smut fic centering around one of their early concerts.

Don't forget to review! Thank you all for reading.

Killing Floor Chapter 4

It's January 25th, 1969 and you're sitting in a sticky red diner booth with Dean Winchester reading the daily paper. You definitely didn't just see an article about a mysterious disappearance in South Boston, and you hoped that Dean wouldn't catch it either. Looked like your kind of thing. But this trip was about staying away from crazy shit like that, not meeting it head-on.

"What time did you come in last night?" you asked curiously. It was an honest question.

"'Bout 2am," Dean replied as he folded the paper and set it to the side, the waitress setting down our breakfast. "I stopped drinking once you left. The guys at the pool table all sucked. Bonzo was still at the bar when I left, of course. God it's hard to see him there, knowing how bad the alcoholism gets for him over the next eleven years." He got quieter as he spoke, the last bit barely a whisper.

You nodded and picked up your fork. "Yeah. I know. I cried my whole way through listening to Coda for the first time." Why the hell did you tell him that.

Dean dug into his bacon and eggs, deciding to change the subject. "I made like fifty bucks playing pool last night. Like I said, those guys blew. Which, converted into modern day taking inflation into consideration, makes… about…" He counted on his fingers for a second. "...between three hundred and three hundred fifty. Where you wanna eat tonight?" he finished with a laugh.

"Did you sleep ok?" you avoided the question. "The traffic never really stops outside our room."

Dean stopped chewing and sat up straight. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's just that," you sighed, "I'm a light sleeper."

He took a sip of his coffee. "How much did you hear?"

You realized you had been avoiding his gaze. You sacked up and looked him in the eyes. "Everything." Dean moved his tongue around his mouth, like he was trying to get something out of his teeth, but you knew he was stalling. You swallowed and took his hand across the table. "I've been stuck on you for awhile, too." His knuckles were dry and calloused from lack of hunt aftercare and the unforgiving winter air, but they sent a warmth into you that was calming.

Dean held onto your hand in return and smiled. "Wait, since when?"

"Since about two months after I moved in." You smiled and looked down as you remembered. It was the day you came back from a hunt screaming at yourself for missing the wendigo and lighting a bird's nest on fire instead. You locked yourself in your room and buried your face in your pillow, shaking. Dean made quick work of the lock, sat on your bed and told you that you can't beat yourself up over stuff like that, that you're a badass, and that he can't even throw that far, and then he took you to the gun range. He made some ridiculous joke about people who can shoot tight groupings being the same kind of people who always sunk the cheerios while learning to aim while they pee, and if you had a penis then you'd _definitely_ be able to sink all the cheerios. That laugh he got out of you, the one he gave you when you needed it the most, that was the moment. You loved his gruffness and terrible jokes, his same four flannels and old food lying around his room, the way he moved and the way his eyes crinkled up when he laughed. You loved the moments in between when he let you peek into his soft interior, like a hug or pep talk after a rough hunt. These feelings were so intense, so scary, you buried them deep inside so they wouldn't distract you on the job. But you hid them so well, he had no idea how you felt until now.

"I've had eyes for you ever since you moved in," Dean confessed, "but you had just lost your roommate. It would've been totally out of line to make a pass at you." You looked down at your plate, not enjoying the memory. "Pretty soon you were a permanent resident, but I had gotten so used to having you around, I figured I'd scare you away," he chuckled and waited for a response.

"Dean, when have I ever run from danger?" you quizzed him with a slight smile.

"Touche," he replied. His eyes wandered to the folded paper and a small article caught his attention. You exhaled silently, knowing what was coming. "Hey, check this out. Mysterious disappearance in Southie. Suspected to be connected to several other cases in the area."

"Dean," you crossed your arms, "we are not here to hunt."

"But it looks like it could be…" he pauses and shifts in his seat. "You're right, it's probably nothing anyway."

Hunter instincts are damn hard to suppress. It's everything you two can do to hold back from packing what gear you can scrounge up from your local resources and hit the road with a hotwired car.

"I have an idea of how we can spend our day," you offer. "The Boston Public Garden sounds like a nice place to take a walk."

Dean's lip turns up. "Walk outside? It's cold as fuck out there."

"Oh come on, you baby."

"Ugh, my nuts are gonna freeze off."

"Wah wah wah," you tease. "You just don't like to exercise."

"No, I just don't like hypothermia. Besides, everything out there is dead this time of year. So much for a garden. Can't we walk around somewhere indoors?"

"No, we're going to the gardens. Up, you." Now you _had_ to get him out there in the freezing cold, just to spite him. You left enough money on the table to cover the bill plus a generous tip and coaxed Dean out of the booth. He gave an eye roll that engaged most of his body and groaned as he followed you out.

* * *

"This is such a bad idea!"

"Come on sweetheart, you're the one who I seem to remember 'never runs from danger'!" Dean taunted as he stood on the ice in the frozen fountain. "Besides, you wanted a nice romantic walk in the park. What says romance more than ice skating?"

"Staying alive." You took a step toward the fountain but paused. You were eventually going to go out there with him, you just needed to have your moment. "What happened to your morbid fear of hypothermia?"

"It melted away."

Oh, great. Here come the puns. "Are you sure that's not the ice melting away?"

"Come on Y/N, don't give me the cold shoulder." Dean laughed and held out his hand. You were finally close enough to take it. "Skate with me, baby. It's like dancing, but with a slippery floor."

"I've skated plenty, Dean, just not without ice skates." You grabbed his hand and started your shaky ascension into the fountain.

"Pffft," he guffawed, "ice skates are for amateurs!" He slid a foot forward with you on his arm, lost his footing, and brought you down with him with a loud thump onto the ice.

Now you were the one laughing. He looked down at you, his pride slightly hurt, your legs tangled and backs up against the fountain's second tier. You found yourself smiling up at him, his dreamy green eyes taking in every moment of joy you were giving him. There was something new in those eyes you couldn't quite place, but it was intense and deep and wild. Your eyes wandered down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, and you caught him looking at your mouth.

"Hey, you guys can't be in the fountains," a park attendant with a beanie cap and about four different coats snapped you out of your trance. You both scrambled up and got out without any further slip ups.

"Sorry," you apologized quickly before you two took off down the trail hand in hand. It had just started snowing, so you headed for a part of the trail with more trees so you could have some sort of shelter. The trail ended in about a quarter mile at a gazebo in a wide open field. You took refuge there and watched the snow stick to the ground. Dean started singing Chicago's "Saturday in the Park" but you had to shush him since it wouldn't be released for another three years. You leaned forward against the gazebo wall, staring out at the snow, not noticing for a while that Dean was leaning against the opposite wall, just watching you.

"Stop staring at my ass," you told him.

"But I like your ass," he countered. He came up behind you and put both arms around you, and his tone changed to something more serious. "You look so beautiful like this. You could be on a postcard."

Your cheeks reddened. It was like a freaking Thomas Kinkade painting. The gazebo, the snow covering the ground, the warmth of this sweet, gentle man around you, it felt right. The same hands that wreaked havoc on monsters were wrapped tenderly around you, and something hot began to grow in the pit of your stomach. You turned in his arms to face him, one hand slowly wrapping around his neck, the other holding his shoulder. He adjusted his arms to pull you in close and held the back of your head, and his warm lips met yours. It was like lightning meeting thunder. The cold air intensified the contrast between the heat of your bodies pushed flush against each other and the snow around you.

The kiss deepened when he opened his mouth for air and you met his with equal intensity. You ventured your tongue onto his bottom lip, which he welcomed with a huff from deep in his throat. He moved one hand to the small of your back, somehow bringing you even closer than you thought possible, and you kept on exploring each others' mouths, holding each other like easing your grip would make all this slip away, while a burning desire swelled in your gut and spread through every nerve, only increasing when you shifted your leg and noticed that he was growing hard in his pants. The only thing on your mind was how badly you wanted this, wanted him.

Dean gently took your bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a hasty breath from you, moving down your jaw, and you ran your hands through his hair as he found a spot where your chin meets your neck that drew out a shaky moan. He grabbed your hair and lightly tugged back on it to expose more of your neck as he continued his quest to find every spot that brought you pleasure. You squirmed as he tickled your ear with his tongue and laughed as he sucked on the lobe.

"Dean -" you begged. "Please don't stop."

You could feel the curve of his smile against your skin, and it was the hottest thing ever. "We can't do this out here, sweetheart. We'll freeze." He kissed your jaw, then your chin, then mouth, too chastely for your taste. "Or scar that poor kid for life." He nodded behind you, spotting a small figure in the distance playing in the snow.

You were still in a dizzy and looked longingly at the mouth that had so thoroughly turned you on, and he had barely even used the rest of him. "This isn't over," you meant it as an order, but it came out as more of a shaky plea. "Dean, honey, let's get back."

He put one arm on your back as you both walked out of the gazebo and back down the trail. "You don't have to tell me twice, sweetheart."

The bus ride home was slower than any bus ride you've ever been in, you're sure of it. It seemed like the damn thing would stop every hundred feet, let too much cold air in, and wait too long for people who couldn't be bothered to hurry into their seats. Didn't they know you had an appointment for Dean Winchester to fuck you into the mattress until you couldn't walk? Meanwhile the man with whom you had this appointment was such a damn tease you were a hair breadth away from straddling his lap right here in the bus. You've never been so turned on in your life, and he did it to you. You're sure you must look like a hot mess, hair mustled from when he pulled on it and his hand resting on your thigh. If he would just bring his hand up higher, you could lean into his touch and get a little friction for some kind of relief.

"Dean," you whispered, "I need you to touch me."

He looked down at you with a knowing glance, the cocky bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he liked it. He smirked and tore off his coat, covering your lap with it. "You gotta stay quiet, baby," he told you as he reached under the coat and between your legs. You tilted your head back against the headrest and felt the blunt pressure of Dean's middle finger against your core through your pants. God it was almost worse, having him this close and yet teasing you like this. You leaned into his touch, needing more. Needing skin on skin. Needing him to know how wet you were already.

Almost like he could read your mind, his hand slipped into your pants and you closed your eyes as his fingers found your soaking wet panties. He pried your panties out of the way with his pinkie and sunk a finger into your folds. Your mouth fell open and you opened your eyes to see him with a slight smirk. He slipped a second finger into your pussy and you huffed out a breath, everything within you screaming for more. Then he started curling his fingers against your g-spot, lightly thrusting in and back in a dizzying rhythm. You almost cried out so you covered your face with both hands, the speed at which he got you to this point quite frankly embarrassing. You tried bringing your legs together for extra friction but he pushed your thighs apart with his thumb and pinky. Your lip quivered as he pushed his fingers in a little deeper, taking you higher and higher. Your breathing was starting to get erratic when he suddenly pulled both fingers out and took his hands out of your pants, acting like nothing happened. Like he didn't just take you to the edge of an explosive orgasm and left you hanging.

You whipped your head around to face him. "Dean! What the -"

"We're here, baby," he replied with an innocent smile. He put his coat back on and prepared to stand as the bus slowed down at our stop.

Walking from the bus stop to the hotel, you thought about the fact that yes, you had come here for Led Zeppelin, but if Dean fucked you against every surface in that hotel room from now until Sunday morning, it wouldn't be a single second wasted. You thought of all the things you wanted him to do to you, and it made you feel primal and empowered to think so dirty. You wanted to hear every possible noise he could make, see his face while coming, feel his pelvic bone grind against you as he pounded you into the mattress. You thought about how badly you wanted to sit over him and sink onto his cock and feel him fill you up. You wanted to feel his mouth on every inch of your body, stopping to suck on whatever the hell he wanted. You felt your panties become even more saturated with each filthy thought.

He walked into the hotel elevator first, and you looked him up and down before following him in.

"Stop staring at my ass," he chided as the doors closed.

"Shut. Up!" you hissed as you fisted his coat and pulled him into a rough kiss. Not paying attention much to what your mouth was doing, you grabbed his ass to get him closer. His erection was growing right underneath your touch, and you let out a chuckle against his lips. Suddenly he lifted you by your hips and pinned you against the elevator wall, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His hands grab for your thighs, waist, neck, anything he can reach that will pull you closer into his clutch. This angle has you feeling his dick up against your core through both of your pants, and it's maddening.

Your vision is going white just from grinding against each other when the ding of the elevator forces you to get off each other and act like respectable people for an unreasonable amount of time. It isn't your level, and a family of four comes in and presses the down button. The elevator door takes ten seconds to close and six to get to your floor, and those total sixteen seconds are the most awkward to date. There's a eight year old boy wondering why the strange man is facing away from everyone, a mom reading a travel flyer, a four year old girl pulling a wooden dog on wheels, and a dad who seems to understand what's going on here. His gaze falls on you and you wonder if Dean left a hickey on your neck under the gazebo after all, then he looks at Dean, who feels the stare, turns his head and smiles before turning back around.

Finally the elevator dings and the doors slowly open. You have to round a corner to reach your room but you waste no time tearing off each other's outerwear. Why does Dean have to wear these goddamn flannels that take so fucking long to unbutton? He takes your top in both fists and you hear a tearing noise. He just ripped your shirt off, and you should be pissed but instead you're even more turned on. At this point you're right outside your room so what the hell.

He pulls you in and sucks on your bottom lip as you continue to work at his shirt, trying to tear away the buttons like he did. Something in the convex mirror catches your eye, and you see a housekeeping cart is about to turn the corner. You reach for your room key and struggle to get it into the lock as Dean kisses your neck and unbuttons your jeans. You look back to the mirror to see how close the housekeeping lady is, but you gasp at what you see.

"Dean," you quietly say.

"Yeah sweetheart?" he replies, a bit louder than necessary. He puts his hand underneath your tank top but you slap his hand down.

"No, Dean, stop, something's wrong."

"What do you mean, gorgeous?" he holds your waist, still breathing heavily. "Like, wrong as in 'I don't have a condom' wrong, or wrong as in -"

"It's a shapeshifter." Your whisper is quieter but more intense as she inches toward the corner. Dean rolls his eyes and lets out a concentrated sigh of frustration, leaning against the wall. "I saw the cleaning lady's eyes in the mirror. She's the one who killed those people in the paper." You had both seen enough shifter cases to put the pieces together. Sure, that was your monster, but you still had one problem.

"We don't have silver," he murmured, looking into the mirror briefly before picking up your trail of clothes and turning the key in the lock to get in right before she rounded the corner. "Keep an eye on her, Y/N, and I'll see if there's anything in here we can use."

You kept your eye glued to the peephole, but spoke softly. "There isn't going to be anything silver in here, it's a hotel room. The crystal shop had nice silver knives, too bad we can get those back at home."

Dean set down the lamp he was inspecting with a loud thud, raising an eyebrow. "You're really going to get it after we gank this thing."

You could feel your lady parts swoon. "Sounds sexy. Alright, want to grab me a shirt? Since you know, someone tore mine in half just now?"

"Yeah, yeah," he brushed off. "Christ, I hate monsters. Freakin' cockblockers." He threw your torn shirt into the trash and handed you a blue v-neck.

"She's just going down the hallway, doing her housekeeping thing. If we go now we can catch her before she finishes her rounds." You slipped the v-neck on and then a fleece-lined canvas jacket. "I'm sorry I ruined your night at the concert with a freakin' hunt. I was trying to avoid that."

"Baby that isn't on you," he kissed your forehead as you both headed out the door. You opted for the staircase this time to avoid the shifter and made a break for the metaphysical shop on the corner.


	5. Chapter 5

Killing Floor - Chapter 5

"Almost there," you pant as you approach the corner store. "Uh, do you see any lights on in there?" It was already dark, but it always is at this time in the dead of winter.

"Ah, crap," Dean said, reaching the front door before you. "Who the hell closes this early?"

You peek into the window, spotting the silver knives exactly where you saw them the other day. "There, found them. They're still in stock."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean questioned, taking a lockpick out of his pocket.

You can't take the hunter out of the hunt, nor the small, unnoticeable hunter gadgets out of the hunter's pocket, apparently. You drag out the 'y' in "Yep," in response, hands on hips, keeping an eye out for passersby.

In less than a minute you're in the shop and trying to avoid knocking stuff over on your way to the silver knives against the wall. On the way you grab a bag of goofer dust, the biggest you could fit in your pocket. Dean handed you a knife and kept one for himself, and just when you thought you might get out of there clean, blue lights reflected off the windows and into the dark shop.

"Let's hope there's a back door," you think out loud as you duck behind a gondola full of crystals.

"I think I saw an emergency exit straight back," Dean remembered as you both crawl on the floor military style, picking up the pace when you hear voices coming closer to the front.

The alarm sounds as soon as you push the door in, and you book it into the dark alley in time to see a pair of metallic glowing eyes submerge into a sewer and replace the lid on the manhole. "Dean! It went down there!" you yelled. He bolted ahead of you and threw the sewage drain cover out of the way with a grunt, then took your hand as you lowered yourself in. Seconds later he had replaced the lid and landed beside you in total darkness. "Flashlights?" you asked.

"Yep," you could hear him dig through his pockets beside you.

"You're awesome." He turned them both on and you took one. Getting away from the entrance before the cops got close, you and Dean started down the pitch black sewer with only two small streams of light to give you any inkling of where you were headed. A noise echoed from further down and you both started running towards it, silver in hand. When you rounded the corner, you came to a fork in the road.

"You go that way, Y/N," Dean said, flashing his light to the left.

You nodded even though he couldn't see and started off. He disappeared to the right and in seconds you stopped seeing the bobbing glow from his flashlight. Sloshing through the sewer, you hear a splash further ahead, out of your flashlight's reach. You darted towards the sound, and in the distance, your light faintly revealed a creature in a hotel housekeeper uniform, but with half its face peeled off and one eye, which glowed silvery gold. Breathing hard, you lunged into a run and gripped your silver knife tight as it scurried away into the darkness. You screamed angrily hot on its trail, eventually gaining on it, your light bouncing up and down between your quick strides. You suddenly felt your foot catch against a floor pipe and in one swift motion you face planted with a splash.

"No! Dammit!" you yelled into the darkness, but you had lost her. Getting up and readjusting the knife, you walked at a steady pace for about ten minutes until you reached another fork. The right side was totally dark but you heard a 'ping' against the metal walls. "Dean?" you called, wondering if this is where his passage had led to.

"Y/N!" came the call back, faint in the distance. You ran towards his voice, occasionally saying his name over so you knew you were headed in the right direction. Pretty soon your light met his and you hurried to meet each other.

"I lost her," you confessed, still breathing heavy from so much running, tripping, and more running.

"And I found her," he finished proudly. "Ganked that bitch further back, right before I started hearing you."

"Oh, great," you sighed with relief, flipping your flashlight in your spare hand.

Dean pulled you in for a kiss. It was short and sweet, just right for a quick hunt before you missed most of Led Zeppelin's set for tonight.

"You ready to head back to the concert?" you smile with the taste of him still on your lips, holding out your hand.

"Hell yeah, sweetheart," he answers excitedly and takes your hand. In a split second he rears back writhing in pain, his hand smoking with burn. You turn your hand palm up to show the blade you had slipped into your sleeve so just the tip was sticking out. Dean wouldn't have noticed, but then again, that wasn't Dean. "You bitch!" the shifter hissed as he held onto his burning hand.

You slipped the knife handle all the way into your palm and plunged the blade deep into the shapeshifter's heart, hearing it gargle and writhe until it went silent, then you yanked out and let it slump to the sewer floor, blood pooling around the fatal wound. Kneeling down, you washed your blade in the shallow water lazily drifting away from the body, then took the flashlight from the monster's limp hand.

"Dean?" you called again, this time terror slowly taking over your voice. Silence. You inhaled sharply and started walking in the direction the shifter came from, your ears hyper aware of every miniscule sound happening around you. The occasional drip from the pipes. The squeak of a rat. The gentle flow of the water across the floor. "Dean!" Your voice cracked this time. Oh god, if this hunt went wrong you had to explain to Cas why Dean wasn't coming back home. You would have to be the one to tell Sam. And you knew you couldn't live with that.

You stood still once more, taking in the slight sound variations in the tunnels. A very quiet "plink" against the wall reached your ears; it must have been from a thousand feet away, judging by the echo. "Dean, do that again!" you yelled. Two plinks. You started running like a maniac, stopping every several strides to ask him to do it again. Two minutes later you're hearing the tapping, not just the echo, and you use both flashlights to widen your scope of sight. You see a silhouette sitting on the floor and you book it.

Dean is has his knees close to his chest, his hands tied behind his back and a gag around his mouth. He had used the metal button on his coat sleeve to tap against the wall. The man was a mess. He looked like he had been punched in the face repeatedly, blood caking the side of his face. His facial expression when he saw you was a mixture of relief and skepticism.

"Oh god, you're ok," you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and cut the ropes around his back and pulled the rag out of his mouth. After standing up, he immediately pointed his silver knife at your chest.

"How do I know that's you?" he ordered.

"Woah, Dean, cool it," you defended as you put your hands up at shoulder level. "If I was, would I be able to touch that without fizzing out?" You reached for his knife and grabbed the smooth sides with your thumb and index finger. He withdrew the weapon, to which you responded by holding out yours. "Ok, your turn." He looked exasperated but you couldn't be too careful. "What? Already killed the one that was wearing you, but there might be more than one."

"Alright, fine," he complied and touched your knife. Satisfied that you were both who you said you were, you handed him his flashlight. "Son of a bitch just tied me up and left me here in the dark. It's not like I could just take off, I couldn't freaking see anything." About twenty feet ahead you guys hear a weak cough and turn your flashlights on a bruised up housekeeping lady tied up and gagged just like Dean had been. She looked like she had just woken up from being beaten unconscious.

"The shifter's last victim," you exclaimed as you started unbinding her. "Well, besides you," you looked up at Dean. He pointed his flashlight further down the pipe, but wordlessly returned it to focus on the living victim when his light illuminated nothing but a long line of bodies in various stages of decay. You pulled the gag off of the housekeeper and she started crying in confusion and pain.

"What happened? What was that thing?" she sobbed.

"Something that can't hurt you anymore," Dean answered gently.

"I'm going to need you to touch this for me," you took her hand and laid it on the flat side of the knife, just for your own peace of mind. No reaction. You sighed in relief and helped her up. She continued leaning on you, limping, as you began walking away from the shifter's dump site.

"Thanks for saving my ass, sweetheart," Dean said, stepping in to support the victim's other side.

"Any time," you reply breathlessly, the day's activities finally catching up to you.

"This is why I take your bad ass on hunts."

"I know."

It takes a long time to find the nearest manhole, and time is of the essence to assist your wounded victim. By the time you're all out and you can get her to a hospital, you've gotten your bearings enough to know you're nowhere near the Boston Tea Party. After you hand off the vic to hospital personnel you wipe the blood off of Dean with a pile of wet paper towels in the bathroom.

The cleaning lady sat on a hospital bed as the nurses rushed around her, preparing to treat her sprained ankle and facial wounds. "What am I supposed to tell the police? Nothing I saw makes any sense." She was on the verge of tears again.

"You were attacked and tied up in a sewer by a lunatic," you gave her the words tenderly, "and we were never here."

"But," she looked up, "you saved me."

"It's kind of our thing," you told her with a weak smile before leaving with Dean, careful to avoid the sheriff's office that was starting to pile in once they heard the bizarre story.

"I checked out that city map in the foyer," your fellow hunter said as you walked down the sidewalk adjacent to the hospital. "We're a ways away but if we hurry we can catch the very end of tonight's set."

"I wouldn't miss a thirty minute drum solo for anything," you chimed in. You weren't sure if "hurry" meant a brisk walk, jog, or run, and you weren't really in any physical condition to any of them after a day like today, but this was the Led Zeppelin American tour 1969, and you'd be damned if you couldn't rise to the occasion.

After mostly running with power walking intervals when either of you were exhausted, you made it to the familiar building, making it just in time for John Bonham's breathtaking Pat's Delight. You had to stand in the very back, but you were there. You could stand there all night and keep listening, if you were sure your legs wouldn't give out or your eyes give way to sheer exhaustion. You and Dean leaned against the wall and watched wordlessly, occasionally reaching for each other's fingers and intertwining them.

"You know, Y/N," Dean cleared his throat. You looked up at him, your eyes red and fighting sleep. "Led Zeppelin is awesome because each person brings so much to the table that it makes every member irreplaceable. With what happened with Bonzo," he spoke quieter so no one but you could hear, "they disbanded because they couldn't continue on as they were without him. That's how valuable he was. Is." He changed his tense with a shake of his head. "But it would've been that way for any of them, because it's all them being badass separate that makes them explosively badass together." He swallowed and smiled down at you with eyes that were just as sleepy as yours, but full of love. "And I think that's how it is for us. We're great together, and I don't think I could go on without you, because you're irreplaceable." He dropped his gaze shyly and shifted his footing.

Were you just past the point of exhaustion or were those tears in your eyes? You leaned into him and huffed a breath, looking into space for a moment before returning your gaze to him. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said," you stammer out at last.

He pursed his lips and stared into your Y/E/C eyes as the drum solo slowly showed signs of coming to an end. You cupped his cheek and tilted your head as he lowered himself into a slow, sweet kiss. He pulls you over so you're in front of him and puts his hand behind your head so he can change the angle of his lips on yours every few seconds. There's a low burning heat deep inside you that simmers warm with every kiss, but never boils over, not now, because this kiss is different than the one at the park. Both were laced with desire, but the one from earlier was hungry and animalistic, and this one was tender and soft-hearted.

You pulled back from the kiss, not really wanting to, but knowing Dean would want to see the very end of Bonzo's solo. After it was over, you walked arm in arm to the hotel. Were you being cute and couple-ish or just trying to keep each other upright? The world will never know. Dean was going in and out of consciousness fumbling with the room key, missing the lock every time. You opened the door and kept your hand on his back until he shuffled in. Without giving a single damn about brushing your teeth or even taking off your clothes, you slumped onto your bed and fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow.


	6. Chapter 6

Killing Floor - Chapter 6

The first thing you saw was the morning light spilling into the window. The first thing you felt was Dean spooning you from behind, and the first thing you heard was his deep breathing. He must have settled in beside you after you passed out last night. As light of a sleeper as you were, there was no way something like Dean snuggling up to you would wake you up after how tired you were. You glanced down at his arm laid loosely around your waist, his fingers lightly twitching. Even asleep, those tactile hands just couldn't rest. He began to stir and his arm tightened around you, the slight change sending sparks through every part of you. Damn this man and the things he could do with his hands. Noticing he was no longer drawing out long breaths, you squirmed around to face him. He was awake, watching you lie there contentedly, smiling as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. His fingers trailed over your cheek as he withdrew his hand, and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes for a moment before looking back up at him. That light touch might not have looked like much, but it made your whole body stir and you felt a jolt go straight to your pelvic floor. You grabbed his shirt and looked down at his slightly parted mouth. In a blur, he pulled you on top of him and brought your mouth down to his.

It started out deep, with lips sucking and tongues licking into each others mouths, but as you began clawing at each other's clothes, it became shallow and desperate, breathing each other's air, all teeth and tongue. You were both making short, impatient noises as you broke from each other's faces just long enough to pull off your shirts and sit up facing each other to continue, your legs draped across his thighs. At last, you could feel his skin. Your hands wandered from his chest to his shoulders, around his neck, and through his hair. His lips dropped to your neck, running his tongue along your clavicle and eliciting high-pitched moans from you, which encouraged him on.

"Dean," you breathed as you grabbed his short hairs, wanting to keep him right there, where every move he made increased the desire rippling through you.

"Y/N," he replied, his breath hitting a spot he had sucked wet. You groaned at the sensation. "I've waited so long for this, sweetheart."

"I know," you replied softly.

Reaching behind you, he unhooked your bra and you took it off and flung it off the bed. He paused to look at you and you felt your neck redden. He had never seen this much of you before, and it made you nervous.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so gorgeous," he said at last, then laid back down, holding you above him so that your breasts were right at his eye level. You held onto the headboard as he took one nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue over it, squeezing the other between his fingers.

"Oh god," you moaned, placing your legs around his body for support. He kept licking until your nipple was taught, then sucked lightly. The noises that came out of you weren't human. He ran his mouth under your breast, kissing and licking under it before moving on to the other one. You were absolutely certain he could make you come just like bucked into him, needing something to relieve your aching core, but he held you still long enough to suck off your nipple with a light pop and look into your eyes. His were dark and wanting, and his mouth curled into a smile when he saw the tormented look on your face, your mouth gaping open and your eyebrows scrunched.

"Son of a bitch," you mumbled when you caught him looking at you with that cocky-ass grin.

He laughed, pleased with himself, and flipped you under him. He got up to step out of his pants, then pulled yours off before you could get up to help. He could see that your panties were already a wet, sticky disaster, and he knelt between your legs and hoisted them over his shoulders. You gasped at the sudden motion and your heartbeat quickened. The next thing you felt was his nose rub up against your clit through the soaking fabric, then his tongue pressing against your throbbing core. You screamed loud enough to start worrying about the neighbors complaining and covered your mouth with your hand to try and silence yourself.

"Scream, baby," Dean encouraged as he slipped your panties off and got back into position. "I want to hear you."

He tightened his grip on your legs as he stared down at your needy entrance. You felt puffs of air as he bided his time and it made your nerves clench so hard in anticipation it felt like you were being electrocuted.

"Oh, my god," you dragged out, "Dean!"

The next thing you felt was his tongue glide up in a straight line all the way to your clit. Your eyes squinted shut as you threw your head back on your pillow and let out a high pitched screech that matched the length of the lick. His eyes met yours for a split second before he went back to focusing on pleasuring you with his mouth. He teased your folds for a moment before lunging his tongue into your pussy, his nose brushing up against your clit. You gasped at the sensation of finally having something inside you and mumbled an incoherent jumble of "oh fuck", "shit" and "Dean that's incredible". He thrust his tongue in and out, occasionally giving your clit a lick or light suck. You could feel your walls start to clench around his tongue, your breath hurrying, and you grabbed the sheets around you and held on as the first wave of orgasm hit you, a sex-stupefied yelp escaping your lips.

Dean could feel your orgasm surge through your body and he hummed into your pussy, which set you over the edge again and made the second wave even more intense. He rode out your waves with his mouth still latched onto you, giving one final lick only after your moans had calmed into one long whimper. As you laid there completely undone, he slipped off his boxer briefs and climbed over you. He held your chin and kissed you, making you taste yourself on his lips, and at first it was strange, but you decided you liked it; after all, that was you all over his mouth.

"You ready, sweetheart?" he said quietly, barely loud enough to hear.

"Yes," you answered with an adoring smile. You had fantasized about sex with Dean Winchester before, but nothing could prepare you for how much of a gentleman he was, how eager he was to give, and how sexy it was to be with a man like that.

First he inserted two fingers, curling up to touch your g-spot, which made your breath quiver. You covered your face with both hands, not sure how to feel about how quickly he had brought you there again. You'd never be able to look at his hands again without ruining your panties. These hands held machetes that decapitated vampires, cleaned guns, and tinkered around on his car. They also happened to be up your vagina, hitting spots you didn't know existed.

You tried closing your legs around him so you could feel more around your core. He pushed them apart and kept fingering you, watching you, gauging what drove you wild and memorizing it. He scissored his fingers, widening the breadth of sensations, and you let out a groan.

"Dean," you pleaded, "please, _please_ fuck me. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he said in his low, gravelly voice, a smug grin on his face. He pulled his fingers out and and you whined at the emptiness. He lined himself up with your entrance and slowly lowered himself into you, stretching you little by little until you were perfectly filled.

"God, baby," you relished this moment, "you feel amazing."

"I was going to say the same thing about you," he responded before he pressed his lips to yours once more. You gently took his bottom lip between your teeth and he deepened the kiss, moving inside you as his whole body rocked on top of you. He groaned in pleasure as he slowly thrust inside you, your tongues twisting and teeth grazing each other's lips. You made eye contact as he came almost all the way out, then shoved himself back into you, a gasp escaping your lips. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle of his cock inside you. You whimpered as you felt his tip grazing your g-spot, knowing you were getting close again.

"Dean, I'm -"

"I know, baby, me too," he closed his eyes as your tight pussy squeezed his cock so perfectly. "You're so fucking beautiful like this, Y/N. You feel so fucking good."

Was it his actions or words that were bringing you to the edge? Perhaps both. With a grunt from deep in his throat, Dean lowered your leg and bent over you as he began pumping into you quickly. With every thrust, he brushed his body against your clit, and a moan got caught in your throat as your orgasm hit you. You laid there with your mouth open, eyes closed, unable to make sounds, just short breaths as tears trickled down the outer corners of your eyes. Dean's eyes rolled back and he bucked into you erratically, a long, dark moan escaping his mouth as he came at the feeling of your walls clenching so tightly around him. You opened your eyes when you felt him spill inside you, wanting to take it all in. He was beautiful like that. Watching him come inside you and seeing his face as he met his release, you never wanted to forget that.

Dean rolled just enough to not crush you when he went limp, and laid beside you, both of you breathing hard. Your eyes met his and he lifted one of your hands and kissed it. You shook your head in wonder.

"What?" he asked when he saw your reaction.

"How did I get so lucky?" you sighed, then kissed the tip of his freckled nose.

Dean blinked. "I'm the lucky one."

You figured there wasn't any point in arguing so you cuddled up to him in your small double bed. He held you there and ran his thumb over your hip bone.

"You want breakfast?" you asked him.

"I don't know about you, sweetheart, but I just ate."

"Christ, Dean," you guffawed, watching the curve of his smile.

"Heh," he laughed to himself and brought you closer, his thumb rubbing your back this time. "I think the hotel has continental breakfast."

"Good, I didn't feel like putting a bra on anyways."

"Well it is the '60s."

You laughed and sat up, deciding what to wear downstairs. You turned back to Dean. "Thank you."

He sat up, looking at you curiously. "For what?"

"I don't know," you half laughed. "For letting me know you were interested in me, I guess. I wish I had known sooner."

He shrugged. "Well then I wouldn't have that super cool Led Zeppelin shirt."

You pointed at him. "Not what I was getting at, but sure." After finding something presentable for the hotel breakfast buffet, you got dressed and grabbed a pen and the newspaper from the previous day. "You ok with leaving tomorrow morning?"

"Man, I'm starting to really like 1969," he pondered. Was the trip really almost over?

You nodded and started writing on the paper. "Yeah, it's been a lot of fun. I've really enjoyed this." You looked around your hotel room. You hadn't let anyone in to clean it since Thursday; trash was in the bin, the beds weren't made, and clothes were all over the floor.

"So have I. Saw Led Zeppelin three days in a row, and I'm going back again tonight," Dean reminisced. "Played pool with JPJ. Ganked a shifter. Found a nice girl." He looked over at you.

You smiled and looked down.

"She's beautiful," he continued, and you blushed, "nice, badass, plans cool vacations."

"Well," you looked up finally, "I found this really great guy while back here in 1969."

"Uh oh, I might have to kick his ass." Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Is he… handsome?"

"So handsome, I don't even know what to do with myself."

"Is he…" Dean thought for a moment, "...treating you right?"

"Definitely."

He laughed in response. "But is he kind of a jackass, though?"

You tilted your head from side to side. "Sometimes, but he's worth it."

"I don't know, Y/N, sounds like you could do a lot better," Dean put some clothes on and grabbed the room key.

You took his hand and shook your head. "I don't think so. And I wouldn't want anyone else, anyway. He makes me happy." He half smiled and you left the room hand in hand to go get breakfast.

* * *

You hung up the payphone in the hotel lobby and folded the paper into your pocket. You had just finalized the wording in the newspaper that Cas would read tomorrow, in an online archive, forty nine years in the future.

CAS: JANUARY 27, 10AM EST, 54 BERKELEY ST. -Y/N & DEAN

You hear the shower running as you open the hotel room door. "It's me," you call above the noise as you tap on the door. You enter the bathroom, the hot steam hitting your face. "I've got the pick up time sorted for tomorrow. We've gotta be ready to go by 10 in the morning."

Dean responded with a very off-key vocal slide from Sick Again.

"Babe, they don't release that until 1975!" you laugh.

"AAAAaaaAAAAaaaaaAAHHH!" the notes roll out again loudly.

"Dean shut up, someone could hear you!" You shake your head in defeat. He sticks his head out of the curtain, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. "Hurry up in there. I need to take mine."

"Or you could join me?" he suggested. You peered at him, only momentarily pretending you didn't want to. You take off each piece of clothing with a bitter toss, hoping he wouldn't notice how much you were looking forward to feeling the hot water rolling off of your bodies moving against each other. You look up from kicking off your underwear and catch him staring, to which you smirk and step into the shower.

The water is burning your skin, but you couldn't be bothered. All you're focused on are his hands slowly tracing your hips and eyes taking in the sight of you. "You're beautiful, Y/N," Dean finally says, his hands coming up on your waist and exploring your back. Clutching to his arms, you close your eyes to fully feel his touch, the steam, the water. You feel lips on yours and melt into his embrace. The fronts of your bodies are pressed up against each other, the water stream intensifying the feeling of skin grinding against skin. His fingers run through your soaking hair and rub the back of your neck, and you grin against his mouth when you shift your legs and feel his dick hardened against your stomach.

Dropping your grip from his arms, you move one hand to his ass and the other to his dick, wrapping around it and jacking it once, slowly. Dean's jaw falls open and a breathy moan escapes his lips, encouraging you to continue. Looking into his eyes, the dark, hot-blooded lust you see there makes you wet and needy. You look down at the handjob you're giving him, precum beading on the slit, and you lean against his chest and whisper into his ear, "I need to taste you, baby."

Dean's eyes widen in anticipation. On your knees isn't the most comfortable place to be in the shower, but the sight of his cock in front of you and the hot water trickling down your body makes it hard to resist. You kneel in front of him and guide his tip into your mouth with one hand as the other holds his hip. "Shit, sweetheart," he pants at the sensation of your warm, wet mouth around his cock, grabbing onto your hair. Another open mouthed hum comes from above you as you slip him out of your mouth before licking the underside of his cock and taking in his full length. Your spare hand alternates between holding his other hip and lightly palming his balls as you suck and bob up and down, intuition and his responses dictating your pace. "Y/N, I'm gonna -" he begins but you grab both sides of his pelvis and pull him towards you as you continue to suck and roll your tongue over his shaft. Understanding, he begins thrusting his cock deep into your mouth at an unapologetically fierce rate, his length hitting your throat. You almost gag, but lift your soft palate wider, allowing more room as he fucks your face. Dean lets out an animalistic grunt and thick ropes of come lace your throat as his cock pulses in your mouth.

You don't rush him, you just stay there swallowing as he comes undone, enjoying this moment knowing you brought him there, knowing you could do this to him. When you hear him let out a long sigh you slide your mouth up and off of him with a slight suck at his tip that leaves a soft pop. He winces at the stimulation on his sensitive cock but hurriedly pulls you up and smashes his mouth into yours, one hand keeping your shoulder pinned to the wall and the other going between your legs.

He nips at your lip, jaw, and neck before muttering, "You might want to hold onto something, sweetheart," and lowering himself to his knees. He lifts your thighs in the air with his strong, capable arms and plants his face directly on your wet, aching pussy. You reach up for the shower curtain rod and wall, the shower stream that his body was blocking now hitting you dead on. You gasp his name as he teases your folds with his tongue, feeling his scruff scratching at your inner thighs and his nose alternating between rubbing against your clit and dipping close to your entrance. "That's right baby, let me hear you sing." What comes out of your mouth next is a string of expletives and desperate sighs as he hums his words against your pussy, sending bolts of carnal hunger through your body, all concentrating to that one spot.

"Oh g-god," you stutter when you feel his slick tongue slip in. He moves his head side to side, his nose teasing your folds and barely grazing your clit. Black spots were starting to cloud your vision from the sheer pleasure, and your pussy was throbbing with the need to come. It was physically painful to be on the edge like this.

"Come on my mouth, sweetheart," Dean permissed, briefly glancing up at you before going back to work. You began lowering your body to meet the thrusts his tongue was making inside you. You began sobbing, your whole body crying out for release even though there were no tears. Suddenly his tongue slipped out and two fingers took their place, thrusting gently and curling into your g-spot. He put his mouth over your clit and lightly sucked, pulling off to breathe a puff of air onto it, then sucking again.

"Fucking hell," your voice shook as you grabbed onto his hair, the other hand still firmly on the shower wall. "Dean, don't you fucking dare stop that." You could feel his smile, his teeth briefly grazing your clit and labia before he quickened his pace fingering you and gave one long suck on your clit that sent you into a wild orgasm. You screamed with a noise you had never made before, your thighs convulsing around his head as the beats of blood rushing through your body were felt all the way to your head. His pace slowed and he lightly flattened his tongue on your clit as your involuntary spasms graduated to a stop. "Holy shit," you breathed as he stood up, still leaning on the wall for support.

"Baby you really did me in," Dean chuckled as he brought you close to him again, the shower water gradually cooling down.

You laughed. "Uh, back at ya. That was incredible." You couldn't help but lean on him as he held you, your entire lower body sore due to exhaustion from the morning's activities that had happened between your legs. You looked up and he kissed you deeply, the taste of each other exchanging in each other's mouths. After turning off the water and toweling off, you checked your watch lying on the nightstand and said, "We've got the whole day until it's time for dinner and the concert. What do you want to do?"

"You, mostly," came the response.

Neither of you bothered getting dressed for most of the day.

* * *

Being with Dean was easy; prior to this trip, you had already seen each other beaten up, shot, bloody, and hopeless. You had sewn each other up on multiple occasions, told each other "you're going to be fine" when you weren't really sure, and watched each other throw things across the room out of rage after a bad hunt. It was easy because you knew him, so there was no pretentious first date, no wondering what he was "really" like under pressure. You already knew so much about him, but you chose him anyway.

He was also easy to be with between the sheets. Because well, he was fucking legendary. You had lost count of the times Dean had driven you absolutely wild today, but you didn't care, because you two had a lot of lost time to make up for. The look on his face as he watched you come undone under his touch was mesmerizing - he was watching, memorizing, learning you. He was making it his mission to know everything about how you enjoyed being touched, and knowing that was almost as sexy as the actions themselves.

"Ready, gorgeous?" he piped up when you came out of the bathroom.

"I might be able to dress more appropriately if I knew where you were taking me," you whined. You were wearing tights, a short but warm skirt, and a flannel shirt.

He looked you up and down approvingly. "You look damn good, Y/N. Don't worry about the dress code, you look perfect."

Satisfied that you wouldn't be underdressed for dinner or overdressed for the last night of Led Zeppelin, you grabbed Dean's camera from the nightstand and put it in your pocket. He had taken a few shots here and there but was mostly living in the moment every time the band played, in a daze from the magic of it all. Actually, most of the pictures had been of you. But you didn't drag him all the way to 1969 to take pictures of you, so you decided to hijack the camera and do the work yourself.

Dean took you to Amrhein's and you both sat on the same side of a booth facing the front, convincing yourselves that it was just hunter instinct to want to see danger before it comes, but knowing deep down that you just wanted to brush shoulders. You two laughed as you people-watched, amused by the array of dishes and drinks people around you were getting. You were on your second beer and halfway through your plate, the side of Dean's foot pressed up against yours. What a fucking sap.

"I bet we look pretty weird to all these people," Dean observed between chews. "I mean, almost every dude in here has hair past his ears. Mine got like that exactly one time in my life, and it itched like hell and I flowbee'd it off." He forked another bite. "And I don't see a single chick in here without bellbottoms."

"Woah," you defended. "Don't hate on bell bottoms. I bet you'd look groovy in a pair. I know I did. Those things made a comeback a while back."

"Oh I tried on a pair once, and it wasn't groovy," Dean chuckled. "I looked like a sailor wanna-be."

You scoffed. "You tried on bell bottoms? Like in a dressing room?"

"Sam was taking too long in the shoe department, I was bored, sue me."

You nodded. Dean never went into dressing rooms if he could help it. He didn't even like shopping, so the thought of Sam dragging him out shoe shopping and him wandering off by himself and trying on questionable fashion was… entertaining, to say the least. You subconsciously put a hand on Dean's knee, poking at your food with your fork.

Dean asked the waiter for another beer and shifted into your touch, your hand slipping up a couple of inches. "So, last night in Boston," he began. "If I don't buy you ice cream or something you can mark me down as a horrible human being." You raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't have to be here. A real ice cream place. Somewhere with sprinkles."

"You spoil me," you cooed. His hand was on your leg this time, but it wasn't staying very still. His fingers curled around your thigh and you cleared your throat. "Dean. There are people."

"Can't help it baby, you're driving me crazy in that skirt," his deep, rumbling voice replied. The waiter arrived with Dean's third beer and he took his time with it as he trailed further up your leg. You crossed your ankles, hoping it would discourage him, but the feeling of both of your thighs against his hand egged him on. No one seemed to notice, anyway.

"Are you going to try and get autographs?" you blurted out, trying to distract yourself. The day's memories of what he could do with those hands were enough to make your head spin.

Not letting his hand up from your legs, he pulled a piece of notepad paper with four signatures on it out of his pocket. "I've seen them all at the bar at some point this weekend," he grinned. "Page, Plant and Jones I got the first night. Bonham I got the next night when you turned in early."

"Oh cool," you said excitedly, the autographs temporarily distracting you from the hand between your legs. You uncrossed your ankles, giving him more access, and you drew in a quick breath as he slid your skirt up, his cold fingers stroking your hot inner thighs. An electrifying buzz rang in your ears and into your pelvic floor as he moved. You looked over at him but he was wearing a straight face that dared not give himself away. "Dean," you uttered again, this time weakly.

Dean looked behind his shoulder. "Follow me," he muttered, "now." He slipped out of the booth and you felt your hand being pulled, following his movements out of the seat. He slapped some money on your table and guided you to the bathroom, taking a quick glance to make sure no one was watching you. He noticed the door locked from the inside, thankfully, and secured the hook and eye lock. "Anyone in here?" he called into the air. No response came from the stalls, so he grabbed you and set you on top of the sink, your legs straddling him.

You pulled his hair until his face met yours without grace, the two of you a mess of gasps and teeth and tongue. He pressed himself against you, the heat burning in both of your pants. You pressed your hand against his hardened dick through his jeans and he grunted, sliding your tights and panties down to your ankles before testing your pussy with a single finger.

"Fuck, Y/N, so wet already" he puffed. "Bend over."

Those two words sent another rush of lust through your body. You hopped down and held onto the sink, making eye contact through the mirror. He hurriedly dropped his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, lifted your skirt, then pulled your hips towards him, forcing you to bend over more. "Dean," you said, your words an order this time, "don't be gentle."

He smirked and nodded, hooking his feet around your ankles, spreading you wider for him. With a single movement, he sunk his cock deep inside you, and you inhaled sharply at the sudden stretch.

"You ok, baby?" he asked.

"Yes," you shouted, the loudness of your voice surprising you, "now move, dammit."

With a groan, Dean began shoving deep inside you, holding onto your hips for leverage. You were so wet you were certain you were dripping onto the floor, but being here, in a public bathroom, chancing someone catching you, him bending you over a goddamn sink and fucking you senseless, it was the hottest thing you've ever done. His hands came off your hips and one held onto the sink beside your hand and the other grabbed your hair, tugging at it so you had to arch your back, deepening his thrusts.

"Oh god, Y/N," Dean heaved as his pace quickened, "you feel fucking amazing."

You were whimpering, hanging on the edge, needing just a little bit more. "Dean, I'm so damn close, baby."

Dean lifted your hips more and supported your weight with one arm as he reached in front of you and wetted two fingers with your juices before gently pulling on your clit. The motion was barely there, but it was enough to send you over the edge. With a single yelp, you started bucking into his pelvis, the waves washing over you, which sent him into his own orgasm. You hummed contentedly as the sloshing of your mixed fluids and smacking of his balls against your ass slowed. Once you were both still, he pulled out, to which you whimpered at the loss, and both of you pulled your bottoms back up, panting.

The door handle jingled, followed by a loud knock. "Hello? Is someone in there?"

You looked at each other, slowly catching your breath. "One second!" Dean yelled back.

"Phew," you breathed, "we are definitely doing that again."

"Yeah, just not here. Let's get the hell outta Dodge."


	7. Chapter 7

Killing Floor - Chapter 7

Led Zeppelin played over four hours that night. It wasn't on purpose; the crowd simply would not let them offstage. There was a lot of screaming, hands reaching, and a few especially devoted fans banging their heads against the stage in protest when they finished their second set. The boys on stage began throwing ideas around, the possibility of the group's longevity slowly sinking in. By the end of the night they had played everything from their first album, White Summer/Black Mountain, Killing Floor/the Lemon Song, a few Beatles songs, and parts of songs that all or most of them knew. The response to every bit they played was enough to coax out just a little bit more. When they were finally done, their music manager came up and squeezed them all in a bundle, lifting them off the ground.

You had been snapping photos all night, some with Dean in the background, some without, and had even been discreet enough to record a segment of Over Under Sideways Down with your phone, which you had kept charged all week just in case an opportunity like this arose. The occasional glance to your side caught a rarely carefree Dean, completely enamored by the deafening rock sounds and enchantment of a night he never wanted to end. You head was cloudy with sensory overload: the connection of hearing Plant's familiar, overpowering voice on a record or the radio and the sight of him in person, instead of in a photograph; the stale smell of the building that barely fit a thousand people, overpowered by sweaty fans and the occasional waft of alcohol; the faint taste of strawberry ice cream still in your mouth; the light touch of people brushing up against you as everyone gradually inched closer to the stage.

Dean made slow, sweet love to you that night. Each kiss was purposeful, intentional; every touch reverent; he looked directly into your eyes when he entered you. He whispered your name over and over, every thrust more meaningful than the last. You held his face in your hands, whispering his name back between passionate kisses, until both of you met your release in wordless bliss. He hooked his arms around you as you both laid on your sides in the moments that followed, but suddenly he fell too quiet, and you turned around to face him to see a single tear running down his cheek.

"Was I that bad?" you joked as you wiped it away.

"No, sweetheart," Dean shook his head and scoffed. He looked down for a moment, hating that he had created a chick flick moment. "I don't deserve… any of this." He gestured into the air with his hand, which you assumed to encompass the vacation from constantly looking over his shoulder, four signatures from four of his favorite people's first American tour, and finding you right under his nose.

You decided to speak for all the things to which he had gestured. "Does it make you happy?" you asked. After all, that was your goal in the first place. He nodded, to which you responded, "Then yes, you do deserve it." You wiggled closer to him in that tiny double bed and fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

A car horn from outside your window woke you up. You sat up straight and glanced at the analog clock on the wall: 9:54 am. You had both forgotten to ask the hotel for a wakeup call.

"Dean! Get up, we're going to be late!" you mumbled as you shook him, temporarily forgetting how dangerous he could be when he's scared awake. In the blink of an eye your arm is swatted away and he's reaching under the pillow for a gun that isn't there. Sensing someone to his side, he jolts in the opposite direction, tumbling onto the floor and grabbing for anything around him that can be used for defense. Starting to stir awake, he opts for the deodorant bar and chucks it in your direction, which you dodge by ducking onto the mattress. "You ass, it's only me! Wake up!"

"Hmm? Hmm?" he grunts, eyes blinking wildly.

It's 9:55. "Go get us checked out. I'll pack," you delegate as you start scooping clothes off the floor, deducing which shirt hasn't yet been worn as you go. Dean silently clothes himself, his mouth still shut with the grog of last night's sleep, the best sleep he's had in years. Part of his outfit is the red band tee, and you make a mental note to ask Cas a question before he zaps you back to the future. Just for kicks, you whispered into the air to the angel, mentioning that you didn't know if this disjointed prayer was going to work but that you guys were almost out the door.

By the time you were finally rolling out, it was 10:02 am. As expected, Cas was standing amid the bustle of mid-morning Boston commuters, patiently waiting for you. You're both still bed-headed and sleepy-eyed but you smile as you spot him right outside the door and gather around him.

"I heard your prayer, Y/N. It was hard to make out but you've greatly improved on last time. I had to sneak into the back room of a convenience store to land in the correct location," Cas explained. "I don't think the store clerk appreciated that. I trust you're ready to leave?"

"All set, Cas," you answered, proud of yourself that your broken prayer cut through decades of time static. "One question, though. If we take anything from this time, will it age?"

"Yes, anything from this year will age to its appropriate decay level when it's brought into the future. All your belongings from our timeline will remain unaffected, of course."

You glanced at Dean's shirt, accepting that it was the last time you'd see it new. "That's what I figured. Thanks Cas, I think we're ready."

"Beam us up, Scottie," Dean piped up, awake enough to speak at last. He intertwined his fingers with yours and Cas laid hands on both of your shoulders.

The next moment you were in the bunker kitchen, the sounds and smells of Boston suddenly silenced. You swayed around for a moment, the sudden trip back giving you a slight case of vertigo. Dean held you steady and you leaned against him, allowing the grip to ground you.

"The angel express can be a bitch, huh sweetheart?" Dean sympathized, rubbing your arm gently. He looked into your eyes lovingly and some of the dizziness subsided.

Someone clearing their throat caused both of you to turn around, only to see Sam in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets, a suspecting look on his face. The look both of you gave him, like you had just been caught with your hands in the cookie jar, caused him to crack a smile and nod his head knowingly. "I freaking called it," he muttered to himself amusedly.

"Bitch," Dean barked defensively.

"Jerk," Sam retorted.

"Wait," you blinked, "you called… us getting together over the course of the trip?" You waited for a reply but Sam just looked beyond you and tried to contain the stupid grin creeping across his face. "So i that's i why you were all of a sudden so supportive of spontaneous time travel!" You grab an orange peel off the kitchen counter and step into the throw, hitting him square in the shoulder as he flinches.

"Oh, I've known about you guys for awhile," he chuckled after the orange peel plopped onto the floor. "I noticed the way Dean would act around you and a few weeks ago you let it slip to me. Trust me, your secrets were safe with me, but when you mentioned going somewhere with just him, I couldn't say no. It's about damn time you two got together."

You sighed contentedly. What an adventure. "How was your case, Sam?" you decided to change the subject, knowing that if the conversation stayed on your trip for much longer, Dean would casually mention how thoroughly you had fucked each other silly, and you weren't ready to scar Sam with that quite yet, even though it was written all over your faces.

"A little more complicated than I expected, but nothing Cas and I couldn't handle."

"Anything on the radar for tomorrow?" Dean asked, re-adjusting his bag over his shoulder to leave the kitchen.

"Actually," Sam's eyes lit up, "if you guys are up for it, there's a ghoul job in southern Oklahoma we can make tonight."

"Hell yeah, let's do this!" Dean exclaimed as he made his way to his room to recuperate. Once he was sure Sam couldn't see he looked back at you and cocked his head towards his room, indicating he wanted you to follow. You took your time gathering your things and walked down the hallway to room 11.

"I'll be right back," you leaned in to tell Dean. "I need to unpack."

He glanced around his room for a second and suggested, "You could unpack here."

The warm softness of it grew in your heart. You looked down shyly, still not over how into you he was. "You really want me to move in?"

He looked confused. "Yeah, duh. Did you not want to? I mean you practically live here anyway. I can clear you out a drawer. I can -"

"Of course I want to, jackass," you scoffed, closing the distance between you and dropping your travel bag, kissing him hard.

After the kiss, Dean continued offering favors without missing a beat. "I can get you a loofah like mine. You can listen to my records whenever you want. I'll clean your sawed-off for you after every hunt. I'll share my pie with you."

"Now that, I highly doubt," you laugh as you rub the back of his neck, his short hairs muddled under your touch. "I'm just really excited that you want me in here with you."

"Excuse me, have you seen you? Waking up to your beautiful face every morning would be a freaking dream come true." You blushed and bit your lip. "Now then. We've got a couple of hours to kill before we hit the road. How about some tunes?" He sifted through his vinyl collection and found Led Zeppelin's fourth album. He dropped the needle and Black Dog began playing, Plant's voice starting out the song strong and the rest of the band joining in for a loud, recurring fanfare. Dean spun around and offered his hand, which you took and you two swayed to the rhythm, interrupted by the occasional twirl. Then he dipped you and you pulled his face down to yours for a passionate kiss. Bringing you back up without unlocking your lips, Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in closer, already forgetting about the dance you were recently sharing. He slid his hands up you back, your chest crashing into his as he parted your lips with his tongue.

You took a moment to make sure the door was closed and locked before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in again. He backed you up until the back of your knees hit the bed, you fell ungracefully onto it, and he crawled on top of you, his knee resting between your legs and hands holding your shoulders down as he sucked at your jaw and behind your ear. You tugged at his t-shirt with your limited range of motion, which he pulled off swiftly and tossed beside the bed. While he was doing that, you started to unzip your jeans, but before you could shimmy out of them he was back on you, holding your wrists above your head with one strong hand and slipping under your shirt with the other.

You made a shocked noise when his cold fingers started grazing your stomach, then chest, then under your bra cup. "Dean," you gulped, his hand slowly warming under your shirt, "how thin are these walls?"

He shrugged, his bottom lip turning up. "Let's find out," he challenged. With his one free hand he pulled your shirt up and squeezed one of your breasts through the fabric of your bra. Prying the cup out of the way, he took one nipple in his mouth. You groaned with pleasure and he rolled his tongue over it until it was hard, then did the same to the other one. It was dizzying having your nippes teased like this without even being able to touch him back.

"Dean, let me touch you," you begged.

He released your wrists to take off your shirt and bra, after which you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back down to chest level. He sucked the underside of your breast and you let out a moan before bucking into his leg, desperate for friction. The way you were gripping onto his shoulders was definitely going to leave marks, but right now the only thing you were concerned about was how good he felt on top of you. You started groping for the fly on his jeans, and he grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing your upper stomach.

"Sweetheart, what's the rush?" he taunted.

Stairway to Heaven had started playing, the soft first few notes filling the room. It halted you and you looked into his eyes, your own burning with desire. His were filled with the same want but he was better at hiding it under that ridiculous grin.

"You want my mouth around that dick of yours or not, you cocky son of a bitch?" you provoked him, his erection quite obvious through his pants and your prying fingers.

He didn't even hesitate letting you continue, and after you had taken off his pants and boxer briefs you slipped out of your own jeans and panties. He stood by the edge of the bed and you laid on your back, your head barely off the edge of the bed, and you took his cock in your hands before guiding it into your upside down mouth. Dean let out a long huff, the sudden hot around his length causing pre-cum to bead at the tip, which you sucked off with a hum. You could feel his gaze as he enjoyed the view of your entire body as you took him in balls deep.

The sounds coming from him were making you wet. Your knees were bent and your feet were planted on the mattress for leverage as your head dangled, but you spread your legs so he could see what he was doing to you. He groaned as you rolled your tongue over the length of his shaft and you felt hands on your inner thighs. You spread yourself further and felt his middle two fingers stroke from your wet entrance to your sensitive clit. A moan escaped your mouth, and it vibrated onto his cock.

"Oh god, Y/N." Dean's voice shook. "Baby, you need to stop. I'm not gonna last and I want to come inside you."

Letting him out of your mouth, you lost track of where he had gone until you suddenly felt the mattress compress and hands pulling you away from the edge of the bed and into the middle. Dean leaned down, hooked his arms around your thighs, looked up at you with a dark, hungry smirk, then disappeared between your legs. Your whole body shook as he licked at your folds, then began fucking you with his tongue. The hits were quick and hot, not letting up for a moment, especially with your whimpering encouraging him on. Your breathing was quickening, and as Four Sticks played in the background, he slipped two fingers into your pussy and licked around your clit until you were screaming his name. He flattened his tongue across your clit at last and your whole body bucked into his face, your orgasm rippling through you. You shouted something combining "fuck", "oh my god" and "holy shit" as wave after wave hit you and he maintained his grip around your thighs until your body stilled.

Coming up from between your legs, he sees a quivering mess with your hand touching your forehead to feel how your head was still pulsing. "Dean Winchester," you said between shallow breaths, "if you don't fuck me right now, I swear to God…"

He grinned at how he had made you come undone. "Yes, ma'am," he complied and readied himself at your entrance. You slid down to meet him eagerly, to which he pulled away and threw his head back laughing.

"Not funny, you ass!" you laughed back.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Dean apologized, lining himself up with you again and this time, slowly sliding in. You moaned contentedly and rotated your hips so you could feel him all around you as he stretched your walls. He let out a happy sigh as he filled you up completely. "Baby, you feel amazing."

"So do you," you reply. "I love feeling you inside of me. Every time we do this I never want it to end."

"Me neither, Y/N," he murmured adoringly before smacking a loud kiss right on your mouth. Then, he started moving. At first, with faces so close you occasionally exchanged kisses. When The Levee Breaks was in full swing, the bluesy rock hiding some of your quieter moans. After the first chorus, Dean sat up and threw your legs over his shoulders, the new angle rubbing against your g-spot and making you groan with every thrust. He could tell you were getting close again by the way your face was contorting and breath was getting erratic, changing his rhythm to pull his body up with each thrust so his pelvic bone would massage your clit. With a shaky sob your release rocketed through you, your pussy clenching around his pulsing cock, pushing him to the edge as well. With a short grunt he spilled into you and tried to ride you through yours but fell forward onto you unceremoniously. Instead of being crushing, his weight was comforting, and you held him there as his dick softened and your breathing slowed.

Dean had rolled off of you and was rubbing your fingers absentmindedly when three quick thumps at the door startled the two of you.

"You two owe me a pair of noise-cancelling headphones!" Sam yelled through the wooden door.

You guffawed, feeling the embarrassment rise into your neck. "Sorry, Sam!" you yelled back.

"I'm not sorry!" Dean announced loudly. "I won't apologize for knowing how to treat a lady!"

"Ugh. Guys, gross. Just remember the walls are thin in this place."

You laughed into the pillow so Sam wouldn't hear you, but also because you were hiding your face. Ashamed of enjoying sex? Never. Slightly embarrassed that Sam now knew exactly what you sounded like being fucked by his brother? Now that was still unfamiliar territory.

"Anyways, we gotta leave soon, so," Sam's voice got quieter as his sentence dragged on, "finish doing… whatever you were… ugh, nevermind. Just start packing. We leave in an hour."

Sharpening the machetes took ten minutes. Dean checked the Impala's oil level and came to the kitchen to pack the cooler with beer. Sam came up behind him and took a few out to fit a plastic container of fruit from the fridge, but you couldn't tell what kind because you couldn't even look in his direction right now. You read up on the case to know what to expect while munching on a microwaved burrito, still thirty minutes to spare.

"Hey sweetheart, you don't have to eat that, I'll get you some real food on the way," Dean said as he walked back into the kitchen to pick up the cooler, unaware of Sam's stowaway fruit.

"Real food?" you mumbled with your mouth full. "As in Taco Bueno? Cuz I freaking love that place."

"That's my girl!" he rejoiced, tossing your burrito into the trash can and picking the cooler back up from his knee, both of you making your way to the garage.

You thought the adjustment period between vacay and back to the grindstone would have been longer, especially taking your new relationship into consideration, but you so far it was practically seamless. You were already a great team, on and off the job, and now there was just another facet to your relationship. Would it be hard separating yourself emotionally from hunting situations knowing that the person that demon was trying to kill was involved with you romantically? Hell yes. But you already loved him to death before the trip to 1969, and both of you were able to keep your wits about you before, so with practice, you'd learn to do it over again. The job demanded it. Saving people, hunting things. And occasionally blowing off steam wherever you could fit it in.

"So," Dean continued as he set the cooler in the trunk, "we've still got a half hour to waste." He visually swept the space for any sign of Sam. "What's left to do?"

You smiled mischievously, glancing at the backseat. "I can think of a few things."


End file.
